


Siege

by Bibliotecaria_D



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2017-11-25 04:52:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibliotecaria_D/pseuds/Bibliotecaria_D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The battle is won, but the war keeps going.  The Fortress is under siege.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before

**Title:** Siege: Before  
**Warning:** Overlord’s not a good guy. Seriously, Overlord’s not nice. Overlord = bad.  
**Rating:** R  
**Continuity:** IDW, AU.  
**Characters:** Overlord, Fortress Maximus  
**Disclaimer:** The theatre doesn’t own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.  
**Motivation (Prompt):** The bits and pieces of _Siege_ from before and after, taken out of _Candy From Strangers_ and finally assembled.

**[* * * * *]  
_Fortress Maximus - “force-feeding”_  
[* * * * *]**

He opened his mouth for anything. It was available for whatever Overlord wanted to put in it: the Phase Sixer’s screw, the screw of every Decepticon privileged enough to be allowed to use him, parts of his own dead garrison scraped off the floor or taken off the hooks hanging from the ceiling, the tools chosen to torture him that day. Anything it pleased Overlord to shove in.

That was the bargain. Despite torture and interrogation of himself or others, Fortress Maximus refused to hand over the information the Decepticon really wanted, so Overlord had targeted an area with more room to compromise. The item of real value was out of reach, but Overlord made his own consolation prize. Hence, the bargain: Fortress Maximus let Overlord use his mouth however he wanted, and Overlord stopped using the mouths of the prison warden’s remaining guards. Be it rape, pain, or (rarely and most horrifically) pleasure, Overlord left their mouths alone and focused on their leader’s as long as that mouth was willing.

It was a bad deal, heavily coerced. Fort Max had no way of knowing if the Decepticons who’d overrun the penitentiary were forcing his mechs elsewhere. Overlord, as a Decepticon, had no reason to keep his word. The tortured Autobot knew it, but what choice did he have? He could refuse the bargain and watch in helpless fury as his guards were punished for his refusal, or agree and at least hope the appearance of a deal was enough to spare them. Overlord had no other reason to let them be, after all.

No reason but the enjoyment of spending an entire afternoon thrusting his fingers in and out, in and out of a reluctantly compliant mouth. Overlord wasn’t even looking at the prison warden chained to the floor beside him, chin propped on his knee. The enormous Phase Sixer was paging through reports and watching the chaos of the combat rink below, merely using his captive’s mouth as an idle pastime to keep his hand busy, but that was good. 

It was good because Fortress Maximus knew that the Decepticon’s full attention meant worse than three fingers plunging deep enough to gag him. Two fingers scraped over the roof of his mouth. A thumb forced his jaw open, making room to join the two fingers and pinch his tongue. A large forefinger rasped through the tender hole where three of his denta had been pulled out at the roots. All four fingers filled him, stretching his lips wide around Overlord’s hand as it violated every corner of his mouth, and the chained Autobot sucked, licked, and nibbled in response. 

He never, ever bit. That was the bargain. His mouth would be pleasing, or his mechs’ would take his place in all the very worst ways and then some. He had no doubt that freely offering his mouth was the better bargain, however rigged the bargain was. Overlord possessed a graphic turn of phrase, and where he’d failed in describing, well, he’d brought in visual aids and done some demonstrations on Fort Max himself. The Autobot would grimly watch his mechs scream and die to protect Aequitas, but when it came to just playing Overlord sick games for entertainment? Trading his own body for theirs in this torture was the only way he had left to fulfill his duty of care for them any longer. 

So his chin was on Overlord’s knee, his mouth receptive to the Decepticon fingers sliding in and out, and he lavished them with every trick he’d ever picked up or -- more recent and terrible -- been taught. Later, he’d pamper something else just as devoutly. He’d put his tongue out and lap, tongue obligingly curled between the sharp ridges that’d make his jaw ache when discharge electrocuted him. It wasn’t something he looked forward to, but there were worse ways for the Phase Sixer to amuse himself.

And that’s what Fort Max was trying to avoid, with his chin propped up and his lips closed around thick fingers. His tongue licked around Overlord’s knuckle joints, and he hoped -- he _prayed_ \-- that Overlord would stay distracted. Let the reports take more time than usual. Let the match end in a stalemate. Let today be different.

He desperately wanted those fingertips to keep playfully squeezing his tongue. It meant that Overlord wasn’t really paying attention to him, and he’d rather be a background amusement than the main entertainment. That was better than the alternative.

Better than the spoonfuls of fuel being held up with a mocking smile. Better than when the spoon was held forward until the bargain made the Autobot open his mouth, because he _had_ to open his mouth. Then the spoon would slip into his mouth and tip slowly to dribble the energon across his tongue. Overlord smiled and made him _taste_ it. He hand-fed him, forcing the fuel on him, savoring the way the prison warden flinched despite himself as the fuel coated his tongue and lingered on his intake aperture. Fortress Maximus had to swallow Overlord’s amused laughter with every mouthful of fuel fed to him straight from dead mechs’ bodies.

He opened his mouth for anything, but he couldn’t always keep down what was forced in.

**[* * * * *]  
_Fortress Maximus - “I already know how it ends; that exit is blocked”_  
[* * * * *]**

Before it ended, before the final conclusion was reached, Overlord left Garrus 9. He left, and he took his broken pet with him.

It was boredom that motivated him. Megatron had not come. There was much violence to be found in the chaos of war, and waiting for a warlord far away to notice him waiting all the way across the vast galactic battlefield had worn thin. There were other important strongholds he could destroy, and other stands he could take. Megatron would eventually find him impossible to ignore, and then? Then the fight would be glorious. 

The fate of Garrus 9 amused him. He’d known the Autobots wished to retake it, but he hadn’t been aware of the Wreckers being slated to storm the penitentiary. They must have found it a ridiculously easy mission, going in expecting him and getting only the Decepticon unit he’d used to take the place. He chuckled to himself, imagining the carnage the Wreckers must have carved through the weakling cannon fodder he’d abandoned. If he’d known the Wreckers were on their way, he’d have stayed a while longer. Aequitas must have been worth something after all if the Autobots had been willing to send in their “best” troops. Overlord was certain he’d have gotten a better fight from them than he’d had since arriving at the prison. 

Ah, well. Next time, perhaps.

To give them proper motivation for that future fight, he called the penitentiary from his shuttle. He had all the command codes, still. It only took the minion Autobot who answered one look to pass the comm. call up the chain of command. Perhaps it was Overlord’s lazy grin that alarmed the Autobot so. It was the expression of a glutted predator looking to kill again: insane and calculating at the same time. Or perhaps it was how he held his pet leaning against his shoulder, utterly ruined and stifling despairing sobs as Overlord made sure the communication console’s camera caught a good view of what he was making the mech submit to. 

It wasn’t a new torture, or even a particularly painful one. He thought, and it entertained him to see that there was still enough pride left in the Autobot for this, that it was enduring the humiliation of witnesses that was provoking the soft keen. How cute. He would have to exploit that at some further date. 

For now, he merely used his pet’s writhing shame to taunt the furious Wrecker glaring at him from the screen. "You could have saved him, had you come sooner, but...tsk. Too late. Now he's mine." He lowered his head and tenderly kissed the side of the black helm lolling back on his shoulder, angling his fingers to draw out a low groan for their audience’s edification. "All mine," he purred, an assurance and threat directed at both Autobots. 

His pet shuddered. The green Autobot on the screen still had the steel in him, however, and didn’t flinch. Overlord looked forward to the day he’d pull that steel out through the mech’s face. 

"We will hunt you down," Springer said, level and deadly. "We will hunt you down and kill you."

Overlord smiled pleasantly. "Oh? I cannot tell you how afraid I am. How afraid am I?'' He freed one hand from its business, ignoring the moaning cry that provoked, and tapped a finger against his lower lip. "I need to show you how afraid I am. My dearest pet, I think you should serve as illustration." A pathetic whine came from the repaired but completely shattered Autobot he held on his lap. Now that he needed no information from the mind inside, the body had been so simple to twist to his desires. The struggle of the mind to resist only added to how he relished crafting that body into the perfect pet around it. "Fetch me a toy, Fortress Maximus, and I'll use you to show your friends how afraid I am." His dark voice laughed, and the sound held perverse warmth contrasted to the cold words it said next. "Or would that be how unafraid I am? I suppose it depends on what toy you bring me and how angry they become while watching me demonstrate it on you." 

Fortress Maximus whimpered as he was pushed off his tormentor's lap. He looked up at the screen, expression pained, shamed, and pleading, but Springer could only helplessly look back at him. The warden bowed his head and went to get Overlord a 'toy.' He couldn’t escape when the exit was blocked.

This wasn’t how it ended, but it wasn’t over yet.

**[* * * * *]  
_Fortress Maximus - ”First time”_  
[* * * * *]**

Not the expander. He couldn’t take the expander again, not so soon after last time. His jaw still ached from being unlocked. Overlord had been in no hurry to pop the joints back into place when his pet learned so quickly from physical demonstrations. Fortress Maximus had learned _very_ quickly with his jaw unhinged and hanging open, oral fluid dribbling off his chin and Overlord taking suggestions from the nearest Decepticon base for what should be shoved down his intake next. The gross distortion of his intake valve had been bad enough, the popped joint painful, but the real lesson had been taught by the laughter broadcast around the small ship. Overlord had let the nearest bases watch the warden helplessly drool, and the shame had ground the lesson in deep.

So Fortress Maximus parted his lips and tried to relax his intake. He kept his optics downcast, not wanting to see the cruel smile he knew was curving Overlord’s lips. He was broken enough to be practical, not masochistic. 

A swallow worked his throat tubing as thick fingers came up to stroke his chin. “Oh ho. Now you’ll obey?” Overlord leaned down, forcing the Autobot’s head up with a hard pinch to the chin. “No, Maxy,” he said in the warden’s face, tone mild but optics flinty. “That’s not how this works. I give an order, and you obey it. No hesitation, no repetitions, no second chances. You didn’t obey, and now you’ll face the consequences.” His other hand held up the small set of hydraulics that’d fit in the back of his pet’s jaw if forced.

The big Autobot cringed. Not the expander! 

He whimpered, hating the weak sound but knowing it pleased Overlord immensely to hear it. He even tipped his head to the side, pushing the side of his face against the larger mech’s hand in a sick parody of affection. He rubbed and nudged, begging without words because his mouth was still open, he’d obeyed, _he’d obeyed!_

Hope hurt the worst, but it always did when Overlord retaught a lesson. Fortress Maximus knew better than to hold onto even a smidgen of it, but there had been just a few times when amusement motivated the Decepticon to show a fraction of mercy. Perhaps those instances were just calculated to add to the terrible pressure stomping his pet’s will flat. Knowing Overlord? Almost certainly so. 

But yet Fort Max couldn’t stop himself from offering his open mouth, whining eagerly when Overlord’s unoccupied hand slipped in. The fingers touching every surface in his mouth weren’t new. They prodded the sensors lining the roof of his mouth, attempted to wiggle his denta in their sockets, and pressed down on his glossa. That hands-on glossa depressor was the only thing that stopped him from continuing to lap and lick and chase those fingers with his glossa. He still closed his lips to suck hard on the two fingers and the thumb holding his glossa down. 

This, he’d been well-trained to do. He was thoroughly degraded by how routine it seemed at this point, but at least he wasn’t punished for reluctance anymore.

It was the swipe of a finger over the back of his mouth that was new. His intake aperture spasmed, but he made it relax. He could do this. He could take it. 

Frag him, he wanted it. He opened his mouth wider and whined again, pushing his face forward into the fingers tracing over the thin metal of the valve itself. He wanted it. Really, he did. Please, he did. He’d obeyed. He’d be obedient. He could take it.

Overlord’s hand withdrew, and a tiny sound of fear and despair leaked out after it. 

“Now, let’s see just who’s in range.” Overlord smiled benignly as his pet shuddered but kept that naughty mouth open. Too little, too late. “It’s about time I gave your personal cheerleader a call. What words of encouragement will he entertain me with today?” Wide optics shot to his face and away again as Fort Max wrestled himself back into stoic surrender. “Springer should take notes. He’s promised to reenact on me every torment I’ve inflicted on you, but, hmm.” He pretended to think that over. “I believe he’s missed seeing quite a few. I’ll have to think of a new one just for him this time.”

The massive Phase Sixer leaned down and tenderly took Fortress Maximus’ willingly opened mouth in a slow kiss. The Autobot’s intakes convulsed, trying not to retch, and Overlord took from his mouth directly the sobbed, involuntary noises of a mech’s destroyed pride. His mouth tasted like terror.

Overlord chuckled as he drew away. “Now, as for the expander…”

The Autobot whimpered again and kept his mouth open.

**[* * * * *]**

_An attempted attack/Siege AU - Overlord, Fortress Maximus_

**[* * * * *]**

Overlord didn't even look up from the gun he was cleaning until he'd cleared the ammo feed. Then stood up and, still holding onto Fortress Maximus' arm, turned to face his prisoner. Rounded optics stared up at him, and despite himself, the warden drew slightly into himself. Half the handful of opened power cells had dripped to the floor to eat into the metal, but the rest oozed slowly down out of his hand toward where Overlord's fist encircled his wrist.

He had almost, _almost_ , managed to slap the opened cells onto the side of Overlord’s head. So close, but so far.

Fort Max swallowed hard. This was going to be bad.

Overlord sighed. "Really, slave. This becomes tiresome. Now I'll have to restock those power cells, and you'll be tasked to cycle them out again. That means I'll have to ensure you don't break my property." His hold tightened. Metal creaked. Paint bubbled where the cell fluid burnt in. "Only I may do that."

He had just enough time to see it coming before Overlord began beating him with his own acid-covered hand. Less physically beating than making sure the acid smeared across the widest area, mostly across his face and upper helm. When the massive Decepticon was satisfied, he released the sputtering, flailing Autobot and sat back down to continue his work. “Do tell me when you’ve learned your lesson, hmm?”

Smoke rose in lazy curls from dissolving paint, and Fort Max backed away, hand held in front of himself helplessly as the cell fluid burnt in. He turned and limped for the washracks, only to find that the shuttle had auto-locked it. He wasn't permitted in there without Overlord accompanying him anymore, not since he'd tried to rewire the temperature gauge. The acid continued to burn, however, and the warden desperately rubbed his face and hand against the wall trying to get as much as he could off.

Too late. His right optic had frosted over, acid-etched and glass steadily weakening. His face hissed and steamed. His helm bleated errors, informing him of compromised areas that would only get worse if the acid didn't finish reacting by the time it got through to his brain module. He...he didn't have a choice, of course. He never had a choice.

Fortress Maximus stumbled back through the shuttle, supporting himself against the wall and blinking rapidly as his damaged optic fed static into his visual feed. Overlord sat right where he'd left him, and the warden's face hurt as his lips peeled back in an enraged snarl. He fought with himself for a moment, but the acid was eating ever-closer to dripping into his helm. 

He dropped to his knees and crawled across the floor, composing the words his master wanted to hear.

**[* * * * *]  
_Overlord - “I like the lip better.”_  
[* * * * *]**

It was a matter of aesthetics.

The glossa hid the piercing behind closed lips, but pulling on the chain brought it into view. That made it obvious that the glossa itself was meant for his pleasure, not its owner’s, as well as making it impossible to speak. Bringing his pet’s talented, well-trained glossa out for display had its appeal, yes, but…

“I believe I like the lip better,” Overlord murmured, and Fortress Maximus winced.

It was a long, slow motion, more like the prison warden shrank into himself than actually recoiling from his captor. The quick flashes of horror had become something of the past. What remained were the humiliations of submission and the pains that lingered. Fast motions meant he had no time to think, and that was bad. Thinking of the consequences of instinctual terror was becoming reflex. To jerk away from Overlord every time the agony hit or shame overwhelmed common sense was to accept that he’d be punished for trying to escape. 

The Autobot wanted to escape, by Primus he did, but he’d learned his lessons in the time since he’d been taken away from Garrus-9. His… _owner_ had taught him well. Give Overlord the slightest leverage, and the Phase Sixer could train a rock to sit up and beg on command. Give him a powerful Autobot, and he’d make a pet of him.

Fortress Maximus reached up with unnaturally steady hands to accept the chain leash Overlord held down for him. The thing was more of a symbol than a real restraint; giving it to his pet to hold was like setting it on a piece of furniture for the Decepticon. Only more satisfying, because the warden obediently kept his hands up and his own leash lying across his palms waiting for his tormentor to retrieve it. His face was already uplifted for easy access. His bleak expression didn’t change as he tamely opened his mouth for the huge fingers that brushed across his lips. 

The end of the leash laid cold and heavy over Fort Max’s bottom lip, and Overlord wound the thin length of the chain around a forefinger. That finger tugged for the flinch of pain it got. The stud punched through his pet’s glossa had a ring set on the underside. The leash had been fastened there. Every tug pulled the stud against the fresh piercing. It was, as he’d ensured earlier, excruciatingly painful if yanked on. 

The first time, his pet had choked on a scream at the unexpected jolt of agony. It’d been quite amusing watching the big Autobot hastily stumble to follow where the chain pulled him. Overlord had hardly needed to expend effort to leash-train the mech when the threat of continued pain did it for him. The glossa piercing had paid off well, he felt. A small initial pain for such a large result.

The warden was better disciplined now, grimly prepared not to give his captor anymore satisfaction than he had to, but that didn’t make the shooting stabs of pain through his jaw hurt any less. He kept his optics dimmed and averted. Refusing to react was the only defiance he could afford to hang on to. Anything else had been trained out of him with brutally meticulous care.

Overlord rumbled amusement from his power plant and let him keep his silence. If it was screams the Decepticon wanted, there were a myriad of ways to get them. Perhaps he would indulge himself later and teach a small lesson about when and how his pet’s pain should be demonstrated for his enjoyment. The stoic surrender could be tiresome at times.

In the meantime, Decepticon forced three fingers and his thumb into the skilled mouth opened for his pleasure. He made sure to thrust them in too far, leisurely reaffirming his ownership. Not that Fortress Maximus fought him over that anymore, but it didn’t lessen Overlord’s pleasure in marking his claim again. He stroked over the surfaces of the mech’s denta, petting his pet quite intimately, and chuckled softly when the intake against his middle finger flexed helplessly. The thick finger circled delicately, brushing around and around the circumference of the intake before nudging into it. 

It convulsed around his fingertip as he pushed it in and out in miniscule motions that did nothing but stimulate the sensitive aperture valve. A curl of his finger held it open yet further, and Fortress Maximus gagged as his tanks pinged him. Overlord delighted in how the Autobot shook slightly, fighting off a purge. Purging his tanks over Overlord’s feet never ended well.

By the time the larger mech withdrew his hand enough to finally unclip the end of the chain leash under Fort Max’s tongue, the Autobot had his optics off. His mouth remained open, but his face had twisted up into an expression of revulsion tempered by determination. He would not purge. He _could not_ purge. 

Overlord’s plush lips curved in a pleased smile. “Well done,” he complimented his pet softly, because the words burned and he knew it. 

He let his fingers smooth over the Autobot’s lower lip again, clinking off the ring he’d set into it earlier when the aesthetic debate had begun. The leash clipped onto it, and ah. Yes. Much better. Nothing made it so clear how far this mech had been broken than to have the method of control out on the open. It was nothing but a thin chain attached to a lip ring. The warden of Garrus-9 could tear it out in a moment if he hadn’t been taught not to. 

Instead, he was going to follow Overlord like a good pet, right out into the busy space station. The Decepticons who worked the station would take one look at him and know how far he’d fallen. It was there for all to see in how he stood in Overlord’s shadow, knelt beside his chair, and crawled into his lap on command. The leash held out on open palms right now could be offered to anyone Overlord chose to give him to, and Fortress Maximus would follow the pull no matter who was on the other end so long as his tormentor was the one who gifted the leash away. He’d learned his place, and it was wherever -- or under whomever -- Overlord told him it was.

The Phase Sixer merely tugged gently on the lip ring for now, half a warning against and half a test of his pet’s attitude. It seemed it wouldn’t be a problem today, however. The ex-warden subserviently lifted the leash up toward him in response. He loved how the Autobot’s helm had already bent, optics down to covertly study his every move. Even from this angle, the expression of dull defeat was obvious. His pet was ready to serve, to anticipate which way he’d step next, which way the pull would come from, where he was expected to follow now. 

He gave the chain hanging from Fortress Maximus’ lip a last considering look as he picked the leash up again and twined it around his forefinger. It did indeed look best like this.

“Heel, Maxy.” 

 

**[* * * * *]**

_“Heel, Maxy” by Shibara_  
**[* * * * *]**

**[* * * * *]  
_Valentine’s Day_  
[* * * * *]**

"Today is the day the Earthlets set aside to celebrate love," Overlord said as he tipped his pet's chin up, curled forefinger gentle and smile utterly cruel. "In celebration, you may have full run of the station for the day."

Fortress Maximus' careful blank mask broke, and wide optics full of disbelief stared up at his captor. Surely this was a joke. A sadistic tease meant to give him hope before stripping it away for his torturer’s entertainment. Overlord _never_ allowed him out of sight unless he was leashed and under the control of a particularly lucky Decepticon the Phase Sixer felt like gifting him to for a few hours. 

Full run of a neutral space station? What was the catch? 

A thumb brushed along his lower lip in a terrible parody of tenderness. Overlord opened his hand to cup the side of the warden’s face the way a lover might. He cared for his Autobot so. "But come 08:00, we have a date. **My** celebration." Full lips curled. Horror dawned across Fort Max’s energy field, and he leaned down to savor the sweep of revulsion as his slave realized what he meant. Terror poured down the mech’s back struts a second later when Overlord’s grip turned hard, yanking on a helm flange. "Don't make me come looking for you, pet."

**[* * * * *]**

_“08:00” by Shibara_  
**[* * * * *]**

His foolish pet didn’t heed the warning. Or perhaps he did, but only the warning about what awaited him during their little ‘Valentine Date.’ Overlord had _plans_. Fortress Maximus wasn’t so tame that he would submit voluntarily.

The defiance did make things interesting.

"Come here, dearest," Overlord sing-songed. He strolled through the corridors of the station with his hands clasped behind his back and a light smirk twitching the corners of his mouth. "You wouldn't be **hiding** from me, now would you? Would my obedient pet do that?" He stepped aside, nodding cordially to a trio of organic aliens. They averted their many eyes and hustled past, pretending not to hear him calling for his Autobot slave.

The station master had broadcast a warning to all residents and ships: do not help the Autobot. By whatever gods they held dear, do not aid the slave in an attempt to escape, fight back, or hide, or every one of them would be making the acquaintance of the gods in person. Overlord had made that very clear to the station master. When a rogue Decepticon Phase Sixer issued that kind of a threat, a wise station master listened.

Overlord had spent an exceedingly pleasant day imagining how pathetic Fortress Maximus must have seemed, scurrying around the station searching frantically for a way to escape. Failing that, he'd probably looked for weaponry and allies. It must have frustrated him to no end that the inhabitants of the station looked right through him. 

Some of the species that patronized this station enslaved other species. Overlord laughed himself to fan-hitching when the first stiff, formal report of locating his missing slave came in. One righteously indignant merchant responded especially poorly once Fortress Maximus grew desperate enough to attempt stealing, and Overlord answered that call to see the Autobot standing wide-opticked in the background of the video feed, caught red-handed.

"Your property is a thief," the merchant said curtly. "I demand payment for taken items."

The urge to start laughing and never stop bubbled up in Overlord's throat. "Oh, I **do** apologize! It's been some time since he's been without my supervision in public. I'm sure this is just a minor behavioral mistake, easily corrected. **Isn't that right, Max?** "

He didn’t raise his voice, but the warden stopped easing toward the door as if Overlord had nailed his feet to the floor. Treads tight, Fort Max stared at the floor, to the side, at the floor again. Anything to avoid looking directly at the merchant and therefore at the camera. The merchant's sour glare demanded action, however, and the Autobot painfully swallowed whatever hope for a plan he'd been building toward.

One hand slowly reached back and retrieved the stolen items from where they'd been wedged out of sight under his treads. Overlord didn’t know why those items and didn't particularly care. The point was to grind in that Overlord held him responsible for their theft -- since Overlord was, as his owner, ultimately held responsible for him. Everyone on the station looked at Fort Max and saw a slave, and this was a sweet little reminder that full run of the station wasn't the same as freedom.

Fortress Maximus handed over the items without looking up from the floor. 

The merchant sneered as he snatched them away. "Property like this shouldn't be taken off leash. You should control him more closely," he said to Overlord as if advising him. "My friends produce a good line of remote-activated restraints for property like this. Very good brand. Quintessons use. You know it?”

“Hmm, no, but perhaps I’ll do some shopping later. Is their shop on the station?” Overlord reset his vocalizer gently when the warden started to inch away. "Don’t go leaving yet, pet. You're forgetting something."

Sullen hatred twisted the Autobot's face. Even turned away from the camera, his fight to wrestle his expression under control was enchanting to watch. Still unbroken, Fortress Maximus. Overlord did so enjoy that. It was much more pleasurable to feel his pet fighting under his foot. 

“You owe us both an apology for your lapse in judgment,” he informed Fort Max in his silkiest tone. 

Shame added to the lovely mix turning the warden inside-out.

Overlord sighed. “Very well. If you don’t want the rest of your Valentine’s Day outing, then apparently I must retrieve you -- “

“No!” Alarm turned red optics pale. “No, that’s -- I want it!” Fort Max took a half-step toward the camera, one hand raised and fear suddenly bleaching the defiance to nothing. “Please, I-I’m sorry.” Humiliation sharp as pain sliced into him, but he turned the step forward into a credibly servile bow of apology to the merchant. “I apologize for stealing.” Another bow, this one to the camera. He bent lower, hands braced on his thighs, and it was harder to force himself to do if the grimace on his face meant anything. “I apologize for…misbehaving. Please. I’ll -- I’ll be a good pet. It won’t happen again.” He stayed bent over that way, waiting for judgment.

Of course Overlord taken some time to torment his toy. It was just too tempting to tease Fort Max by holding a kindness out of reach, and it emphasized all over again how the day off, as it were, wasn’t a kindness in the least. It was a cruelty. In the end, the warden begged forgiveness on his knees before the merchant and groveled to Overlord of his own initiative, something Overlord normally had to punish him to cringing and stammering for mercy before he would voluntarily do. And for what? A scant handful of hours away from the Phase Sixer in the illusion of freedom. It was a mockery of a life outside of constant torture and slavery. 

Despite the humiliation of knowing that, Fortress Maximus had apologized with a sense of urgency his usual monotone delivery of the degrading words couldn’t hide. It was a pretense, but it was a bittersweet taste of a life that he _needed_ to cling to. Once granted, a privilege became such a simple method of motivation. Dangle it out of reach, and Overlord’s dear pet couldn’t help but reach for it. Threaten to take it away, and Fort Max struggled to ‘earn’ it back.

The rest of the day was rather entertaining in that manner. His toy learned caution. From what the docking master called to tell him, the Autobot hovered around the shipping area for a couple of hours, failing to casually sidle toward a departing ship’s open cargo bay doors. The docking master had eventually ordered him out of the area, tired of his loitering and wary of tempting Overlord’s wrath. Besides which, Fort Max was big enough that he could cause havoc if he had any crazy notions about hijacking a ship by force.

Fortress Maximus didn’t take orders well, but he took them. He retreated back into the station. Overlord rather thought his pet didn’t want to risk another angry vidcall.

Just for the fun of it, Overlord headed out into the station himself. The merchant had amused him, and he felt that should be rewarded. They had a long conversation about slavery on the alien’s homeworld. The subtle disproval for his slave’s bad manners nearly had the Phase Sixer in stitches, and he departed the shop in a search for the merchant’s friends’ wares. They were entertaining in their own right. He typically wasn’t one to spend shanix on frivolous decorations, but when they served a larger purpose besides frilly, fancy restraints, well. How could he resist.

A small sound greeted him when he exited the shop, and Overlord looked up from his receipt to see the widest optics he’d ever seen. Oh. Oh, now this was exquisite chance. He couldn’t have timed it better if he’d tried. His lips curved in a terrifying smile. The panic splashed through his pet’s energy field spiked so hard he could feel it recoiling from him. 

The warden fell into a fighting stance, stumbled out of it, glanced from side to side like an escape route might have appeared from nowhere, and abruptly backpedalled three steps back before stopping dead in the same fighting stance. Indecision and outright terror rattled his helm flanges. His fists shook. 

How very nice to see that ‘fight or flee’ still ruled the mech. The day Fort Max submitted instead of planned would be the day he was broken to heel.

Overlord let go of the bag and receipt with one hand and lifted it to waggle his fingers in hello. “Three more hours, pet. Don’t be late.”

Raised fists sagged. The warden’s mouth worked, speechless. Fans hitching in fear echoed down the hall, and Overlord laughed as he turned to stroll back toward his shuttle. He wondered at the time if his toy had figured out the game, yet. 

Perhaps Fortress Maximus had. It was entirely likely that he couldn’t muster the courage to surrender to Overlord, anyway. Pride and terror combined probably froze the warden wherever he’d ended up, and now Overlord walked the station softly calling for his pet, thoroughly enjoying their ‘date’. He’d up the stakes if the warden didn’t come out soon. First some detailed threats of what was in store if Fort Max didn’t come like a good slave, then Overlord would start with the emergency pods and destroy the station. A sacrifice of everyone here would rub the Autobot’s face in his cowardice, and if Fort Max decided to come out beforehand, it would still make a lesson on obedience. Obey Overlord at once, or else.

It was a rigged game. Overlord liked that kind best.


	2. Before

**Title:** Siege  
 **Warnings:** Overlord is the opposite of cotton candy fluffy feels. He is a monster, and I tried to write him as such. You have been warned.  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Continuity:** IDW, AU based off the _Candy From Strangers_ continuation.  
 **Characters:** Overlord, Fortress Maximus  
 **Disclaimer:** The theatre doesn’t own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.  
 **Motivation (Prompt):** Fortress Maximus - _”First time”_ \+ Kinkmeme prompt (specialized interfacing equipment  & rape).

  
**[* * * * *]**   
**The battle is won, but the war keeps going. The Fortress is under siege.**   
**[* * * * *]**   


Overlord had tamed many pets in his time, making them out of a wide variety of mechs. Most of them had survived, early on when paying lip service to the Senate’s precious laws still mattered. The vast majority of his toys since then had not been so lucky, although their lack of fortune was questionable. He’d made them beg for death before deigning to grant it, after all, and their words had been sincere.

His methods had refined, over time. In some capacities they had become harsher as the details fine-tuned, but not the ending. His tastes had changed as time passed, but the final blow had always been something he’d found too toothsome to pass up. 

Even considering the history of pets before him, Fortress Maximus was special. 

He was watching his latest pet scrubbing at the floor of the shuttle with a filthy rag. Nothing more than that, and it still made an amused smile curve the warlord’s lips. Perhaps it was the rank, Overlord mused. A prison warden wasn’t common, but the prison warden of the Autobots’ most secure penitentiary was unique. Then again, the Phase Sixer had broken several officers in both factions whose positions were unique. This wasn’t the first time he’d assigned a ranking mech degrading chores. 

The setting, maybe? It wasn’t often Overlord confined himself to small ships, much less a shuttle of this size. The spacecraft would have been far too piddling for anything but short transportation if the warlord hadn’t had company. In fact, the small size of the shuttle had allowed him to concentrate all of his attention on that company. There were few distractions. The outposts in this sector were clustered together and lively with Decepticons, but having gone rogue, Overlord felt no obligation to become involved in the politics or local hierarchy. 

As for the Decepticons at the outposts and passing through the sector, well, they liked living. Until the Decepticon Justice Division showed up or Lord Megatron himself gave the order, everyone was just going to pretend the Phase Sixer who occasionally docked for supplies and a few days out of the shuttle was still one of the faction. They didn’t cause any trouble, and he left their outposts intact. He also brought them his always-entertaining personal Autobot slave, and that traveling show made him welcome anywhere he showed up. 

Overlord grunted softly as he sat up to uncross his legs, and his pet froze. He could hear the way the mech’s fans picked up until he recrossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. Only once he made no move to stand did his pet start scrubbing again. The rag smeared fuel and lubricant and hydraulic fluid across the floor, picking up some of the puddle but ultimately only making it worse as more fluids continued to drip from damaged plating. It was a futile task.

But a fitting one. It seemed appropriate that Fort Max should clean up his own mess.

It was the mech himself, Overlord decided, watching his pet painfully labor. He had tamed many mechs, breaking them in and discarding them once they ceased to be amusing. Fortress Maximus stood out in that he never _quite_ broke. He bent, oh yes. He bent beautifully. He’d whored his body to Overlord to spare his garrison, and hadn’t that been pleasant? Mmm, the Phase Sixer fondly recalled the warden’s revulsion as Overlord played with him, and his unwilling compliance with every order given. That had been a delight. 

Yet the Autobot had utterly refused to give up the secrets of Aequitas no matter who was threatened or what was done to him. That had impressed Overlord, really. More impressive yet was his resistance. Overlord was a master of pain and manipulation. He knew how to twist a mech’s mind and abuse the body, but Fortress Maximus defied him at every turn. 

At Garrus-9, chains had always been a requirement. Tight chains, because otherwise the stubborn mech would use them as a weapon. Overlord had laughed himself silly when the warden actually attempted to loop a pair of cuffs around his throat to strangle him. Laughed, then introduced the concept of it being a _privilege_ to be allowed even a few links extra. The contortions taking away the chains between various limbs had forced had been educational when positioning the Autobot later. He was sure not even Fortress Maximus himself had been aware that his frame could twist so far. 

Chains, nails, and shackles had continued to be a necessity even after Overlord had made the decision to leave the penitentiary and take the Autobot with him. That had been a surprise in light of what the Phase Sixer had put him through before leaving. He had thoroughly torn the warden apart, slow and excruciating, before having him repaired again. Fort Max had cursed his name and struggled the whole way down, and come up out of medical statis swinging. The maddened mech had killed fourteen Decepticons, including the medic who’d repaired him, before Overlord had walked in and subdued him. 

The shudder of reflexive terror when the warden had seen him coming had been exquisite. The fact that he’d immediately recovered and launched himself at Overlord’s throat had been a treat. Such spirit! Even after everything, Fort Max had kicked and fought as Overlord had dragged him onto the shuttle.

It’d taken time to chip that resistance away. For every sharp, independent edge smoothed into pure submission, a pocket of hatred lurked under the thin veneer. When the pressure built, the hatred burst to the surface in violence or defiance that Overlord couldn’t predict. Every chain removed had been replaced by a mental inhibition trained into his pet’s mind, but the Autobot _still refused to give up_.

The mech was an unparalleled game. Overlord had yet to grow tired of his appearance, much less become bored with playing with his mind. 

Fortress Maximus had woken him up two days ago by stabbing him through an optic with the tiny surgical laser scalpel from the shuttle’s emergency medical kit. The mech who could do that, knowing the consequences if the first blow wasn’t immediately fatal, was not someone the warlord could label a temporary entertainment. Overlord was beginning to think this might be something more long-term. The sheer novelty of that was amusing by itself. Overlord had never had a pet remain functional for so long, mentally if not physically. He was impressed.

He’d also found himself prone to indulging the Autobot’s spirit. He’d left the laser scalpel in the kit as a test of his pet’s obedience, but also as an invitation. Waking up to the sharp _crack_ and slash of pain as the scalpel lodged in his optic had been excellent, just excellent. He’d laid there on the berth and chuckled even before he’d brought intact optic online. He’d felt the grinding, circular motion as the hand on the scalpel attempted to pop it past the optic, attempted to stab it into his brain module, and he had laughed. The warden had taken the invitation and aced the test even as he’d failed it. Fortress Maximus was still unbroken.

The temptation to crush him, to truly see what he could _take_ , was there. Overlord had already taken the mech apart at Garrus-9, however. While that earned him that delectable tremor of involuntary fear whenever he unlocked the shuttle’s tool rack, it had failed to curb the acts of defiance. They’d simply become less reckless. Now, not every opportunity was grasped after. The Autobot bided his time carefully. _Almost_ every order was obeyed, making it difficult to guess when the disobedience and wild violence would occur. Physical pain had made the warden wilier, more willing to plan out his attempts at killing Overlord or escaping. 

That, in and of itself, caught Overlord’s interest more every day. The training meant to shape the warden had instead condensed him, inverting outward bristling until it was concealed under the surface to wait. The taming process had subdued him, not broken him. 

That intrigued Overlord. Bringing the Autobot to heel hadn’t made him any less desirable. Usually, by the time one of his pet projects had gotten to the point of following his most depraved commands without protest, there wasn’t anything left in them to keep his interest. However, the occasional, hidden glimmer of calculating thought had Overlord watching Fortress Maximus more closely than when he’d first gotten his hands on the warden.

The mech hadn’t been a worthy opponent in a fight, not anything approaching Megatron’s category, but he had traits that the warlord could admire. He’d told his pet as much as he’d slowly risen from the berth, laser scalpel sticking straight out of his optic. The energon had run as hot as Overlord’s charge, dripping from his lips like lecherous words even though his actual words had been mildly spoken. 

The Autobot had refused to back away. He’d shaken, optics wide and helm flanges vibrating, but his dear pet had stayed defiant as Overlord stood. Gentle words and compliments only meant that the pain would be worse. The murder attempt had already happened; backing down would do nothing but singe the warden’s pride before Overlord himself extracted it one acid-burn apology at a time. That didn’t mean Fort Max’s knees hadn’t weakened when Overlord stepped close to look down at him, and the Phase Sixer had seen every loose wobble. 

The face caressed by the back of the warlord’s fingers had been as expressionless as Fortress Maximus could force it, because the Autobot refused to give Overlord any more reactions than he absolutely had to. In return, Overlord found his stoic pseudo-surrender a gorgeous facade. Like all pretty things, he took a perverse sense of joy in shattering it to bare the ugly reality underneath. 

Except what was underneath was never fully revealed, and that was glorious. Special. Unique. Fortress Maximus bent and bent, but he never _quite_ broke. It was endlessly _fascinating._ Overlord hadn’t been this obsessed with what a mech was made of since meeting Megatron. 

He’d spent hours working over this Autobot’s helpless body, staring deep into agonized optics as he searched for what it was about this one mech that made him capable of this. Capable of struggling long after hope should have been burnt out. What made this Autobot capable of shrieking apologies and abjectly begging for mercy one moment, then attempting to kill him the next, even knowing that the attempt would only make the pain worse? There had been hours of amusement, bemusement, even frustrated anger as he dug further into Fortress Maximus only to feel the mech slip somehow away. 

No, this pet would not lose his interest. Not the way all his past pets had as he’d discarded their broken shells. There had been nothing left in them to entertain him but their deaths, but they had been nothing compared to Fortress Maximus. Despite every indignity and pain, this Autobot still had enough sense of self to gag on defeat. That astounding will bent and rebounded, but didn’t break.

A snap of his fingers, and his pet visibly winced. The lowered helm turned gradually until one cracked optic could look up at the huge mech sitting there watching him. The Phase Sixer sat up, uncrossing his legs, and the wince became cringing. The warden seemed to be trying to hide beneath his back-mounted treads, well beyond the point where logic or dignity would object to such foolishness. One hand pointed to the floor at massive feet, however, and Fortress Maximus’ throat tubing worked in an anxious swallow. Overlord honestly could not tell if the Autobot were scraping up the courage to obey or defy him. The unknown factor made this so _exciting_. 

He was vaguely disappointed when the injured mech only pulled himself across the floor to kneel at his feet. Ah, well. It _had_ been two days. 

Fort Max bowed over his knees to press first his split lips, then his forehelm to Overlord’s feet, right and left. The kisses and subservient touches left stains, and that deliciously involuntary wince happened again when the Autobot saw them. The black helm jerked in place, as if the mech had stepped on the urge to check if the smears had been noticed. Of course they had been noticed. The oily rag clutched in one hand lifted but slowly lowered again. The thing was useless. There was only one solution. 

Overlord leaned back in the chair and smiled faintly as his pet hesitated just a second longer before bending again. A glossa reluctantly bathed his feet, polishing them clean in long swipes. Ah, now that was entertaining enough when commanded, but it was positively lovely when done of Fortress Maximus’ own initiative. The warden finished by hanging his head low, nearly to the floor between now-clean feet as he waited for orders. That was satisfying to see, and even more satisfying to feel as overheated air panted against the warlord’s plating. 

Dread sizzled through the Autobot’s circuitry in a surge of tainted energy, and Overlord gloried in it as he used the edge of one foot to tip his pet’s face up. “Enough,” the warlord said. He studied the blank optics that seemed to look right through him and frowned. “What should I do with you?” He shook his head gravely, putting a hand up to his chin as if to contemplate the puzzle that was his problematic captive. “Your undisciplined behavior vexes me, Maxy.”

He paused artfully, and two days of torture made his pet take the cue as intended. “I’m sorry,” was muttered thickly. “I’ll do better.”

“Will you? I confess myself doubtful of that promise.”

"Please," the warden said dully, past noticing or caring how his intakes coughed fluids with every syllable. One optic flickered erratically. "I can be good. Please let me try."

Obviously, Fortress Maximus had reached the point of withdrawing to a safe place inside himself. He was bending because it was what would stop the torture. It was what Overlord wanted, and he’d bend any way Overlord demanded right now. The inner core of him, however, had retreated behind the high, stubborn walls of continued rebellion. 

Hatred and defiance lurked behind the bleak mask Fort Max showed his tormentor. Meek compliance covered its opposite. Overlord looked into his optics and laughed quietly, because there was fear there, too. If nothing else had been learned in their time together, the warlord had taught his pet that no place was safe. The Autobot had withdrawn, but he knew that Overlord wouldn’t let him hide forever. His tormentor thoroughly enjoyed picking apart that mental stronghold at the seams.

“No,” the Phase Sixer decided, and he smiled at the lightning-quick crackle of terror that flared throughout the warden’s body. Resignation to the inevitable still had its weak spots, one of which was to make the inevitable more horrible than anticipated. “No, I don’t believe you. Perhaps it’s time I found a port and pursued an alternative method of punishment. A change in the training regime might be what you’ve been asking for with your antics.” His voice silkily seeped under the door of Fort Max’s fortified haven, conjuring the threat in vivid detail where it couldn’t be blocked out. Overlord could see how the idea caught behind the Autobot’s optics, impossible to ignore. “A few weeks’ time as a barrack’s plaything may make you more inclined to be grateful for what I allow you. How much rest do you think a full garrison will permit you?” His powerplant rumbled as he himself imagined it. He’d seen the Autobot humbled under other mechs before, but rarely had he left the primary work of causing real, degrading pain to them. “You know so many amusing tricks. How long do you think you’ll last before you’re willing to perform them all just to be granted enough chain to sit up straight?” 

Another swallow worked Fort Max’s throat. Overlord could feel it against the tip of his foot. It turned his thoughts darker yet as an alternative idea struck. ”No, perhaps not. Such a disobedient pet doesn’t deserve chains. Chains are too much of a privilege.” He moved his foot from side to side, turning his pet’s head this way and that to study him from different angles. “I should walk you into the first bar we come across and weld your knees to the floor. I’m sure the proprietor will be thrilled by the addition to the decor. I **might** return for you after you make me a certain percentage of the -- how shall I phrase it? **Predictable** proceedings.” 

A shiver of fear got past Fortress Maximus’ controlled facial expression. Overlord cocked his head to the side, rolling the thought around his head as he watched his pet try not to imagine everything he said. The nearest station wouldn’t do, but the outpost at the edge of this sector housed a particularly rowdy garrison who appreciated Overlord’s patronage for the entertainment value. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d lent a Decepticon or four there his pet for an hour of pleasure. They had experience with prisoners because of the outlying position of their outpost. They also had a taste for riding danger. The risk of retaliation from tormenting an untamed Autobot powerhouse only made them more eager to take everything they could from him.

The first time Overlord had handed over his pet’s leash, Fort Max had fought. Of course he’d fought. The warden had torn a swathe through the barracks before Overlord had pinned him down again. The off-duty Decepticons in the outpost had considered the following discipline to be the height of educational entertainment, especially when Fort Max had begun whimpering, then howling for the chance to apologize. Which he had, individually and at length, on his knees before the Decepticons he’d tried to kill only hours earlier. 

It was what had given the warlord this idea in the first place. Fort Max loathed crawling for him, but groveling for the amusement of a crowd had resulted in sullen obedience the next time Overlord let him be borrowed. Letting the Autobot’s victims have their way with him until they’d been satisfied had taught the warden the value of choosing with whom he battled. Fortress Maximus went blank-opticked and doll-stiff, but he did as he was told. 

Abandoning the warden to abuse from an entire base wouldn’t break him anymore than letting Garrus-9 have a turn with him had, but it would make him bend. He would bend, and he would feel himself bend, and his helpless compliance was always a pleasure to watch. 

The bar idea appealed to Overlord for that. The fact that he could sit idly by while others did the work for him did have its perks. Being a voyeur was indeed one of the Phase Sixer’s quirks, and not one he normally prioritized above hands-on involvement. It could be relaxing to watch his pet be violated endlessly. That was the advantage of numbers, after all: when one mech had other responsibilities, someone else could step in and take over. Overlord was only one mech. While having time between lessons let them settle in, it also allowed Fort Max to recuperate somewhat. Welded to the filthy floor of a small, hole-in-the-wall bar would reduce the Autobot to a fixture. He’d be used as a frag-toy and piece of furniture by literally hundreds of mechs until even Fortress Maximus’ stolid refusal to show weakness cracked under exhaustion.

“Too much personal attention,” Overlord said aloud, gazing off toward the small bridge of the shuttle as if already plotting course toward the outpost. “I do believe you feel yourself too important, Maxy. You think yourself above servitude because I have spent so much of my time on you. Lavished it on you, really, and I don’t think you appreciate what it is I’ve spared you from. You don’t acknowledge how I’ve concentrated upon you when I could have thrown you to the masses. Do you remember Garrus-9? Hmm?” A numb sort of horror sheeted off the warden’s circuitry in washes of terror-fueled electromagnetic energy. Oh yes, Fort Max remembered. “Do you remember the sea of hands that reached to meet you as you fell? How it felt to be an object in those hands? Every prisoner there had reason to hate you, treat you as something more than you are. In this sector of the quadrant, however, you are merely chattel. A body with a red brand, here to be used for pain and pleasure before being discarded as the worthless waste of metal you are.”

He looked down at his pet, smiling benignly. “You are nothing here but property. My property, but property nonetheless. Ungrateful property, to not show how you appreciate me taking you for myself.” The smile became a mocking frown. “It’s the only thing I can assume, based on your continued disobedience. Very well. If you do not want to serve me, then I will allow you to serve others. Perhaps a few months welded down as a public service will provide motivation for proper behavior in the future.” 

The hand not holding the soiled rag slid across the floor to cup the heel of the foot holding Fortress Maximus’ face up. The Autobot turned his head to the side and downward in order to nuzzle it. His optics dimmed. “No. Don’t,” was whispered against the metal, and the warden’s lips felt slick from their coating of lubricant and fuel. “I’ll do better.”

“You do not tell **me** what to do.” Overlord flexed his foot, narrowing his optics in enjoyment of the way his pet chased after it. 

The soft scrape of metal accompanied more of the obsequious kisses Fort Max had struggled so long against giving. Now the Autobot showered them on the Phase Sixer’s foot because he knew they pleased the massive mech. Right now he had to bend. He had to. Overlord knew he did, just as he knew what his pet was doing, and every submissive kiss lit a bloom of warmth across his plating. They were meant to appease him, but they were merely amusing him.

The warden felt it and flinched, but he mouthed the tip of Overlord’s foot anyway. When his lips slid free, Fortress Maximus turned his head and rubbed his cheek against the metal. His head turned the other way, and he nudged his nose against it next. “Please,” he said, flat voice strained. “Please, I’m…grateful. To be your -- your pet.” Those words should have been the bitterest the warden had ever spoken, but there had been more awful things he’d been forced to say. That didn’t mean they didn’t score him deeper than any whip with the shame of it.

Overlord listened to the tell-tale pauses and flexed his foot again as if thinking. Fort Max ducked his head further, bowing beneath the foot to flick his glossa in tiny licks up from the heel. “Please…let me…serve you,” the Autobot said between licks. “I’ll be…good. I…swear it. I’ll be…obedient. Please…I’m sorry.” He reached the tip of the foot and gave it a lingering kiss before raising his head enough to look up at the warlord. “Please forgive me.”

There was the crack in his pet’s resolve he’d been waiting for. Fortress Maximus had learned to beg early on, but as Overlord looked down at him, there was a sincerity there that couldn’t be trained in. That was desperation. His pet truly wished to avoid the bar scenario.

The huge Phase Sixer folded his arms slowly, lounging in his chair. He contemplated the Autobot trying to placate him. 

The long pause filled with the harsh undertones of stressed systems and the liquid drip of leaks. Fort Max cringed before him, doubled over on his knees. He’d only dared to lift his head, and now he didn’t dare look away. Overlord waited, watching. The silence would wear on the warden, he knew. His pet was trying to predict how he wanted the Autobot to bend, and Overlord didn’t intend to give away any clues. It was always more interesting seeing how far the mech bent himself.

Eventually, the warden’s optics glanced slightly to the side. It was just a nervous look, darting away from Overlord’s face for less than a second, but it betrayed his thoughts. Still looking up at him, wary and reluctant, Fort Max leaned forward and tilted his head just a bit. Just enough to softly kiss a transformation seam on the warlord’s lower leg. The small point of contact tingled as the Autobot tried to make an offer through a subtly suggestive push of charge.

“Oh-ho, now what have you done to be allowed that?” Overlord scoffed. The question had no other purpose than to make Fortress Maximus look away suddenly, optics down as the mocking words stung him. 

Overlord waited until his pet wrestled his expression back to neutral and looked up again. “What makes you think I’d allow a disobedient, degenerate Autobot **slave** like you to touch me?” He leaned down, catching Fort Max’s chin and making him stay still despite a delightfully instinctual wince away. Denial of this offer had not been what his pet had expected at all. He could nearly feel how shock smashed through every painstakingly-constructed barrier the mech had put up to prepare for following through. The Autobot’s shaking picked up. “Give me a reason I should forgive you,” the Phase Sixer demanded.

For a moment, fluid-coated lips moved soundlessly. Fortress Maximus’ optics were so very wide from this close, and Overlord’s hand clamped down hard on his pet’s chin to prevent him from scrambling backward. 

A low noise finally squeaked from a strained vocalizer, and the warlord cocked his head as if to better listen. “Pardon? What was that?”

He heard the Autobot reset his vocalizer. “I’ll make it good,” was forced out in a rusty voice. “Please. You know I can.”

Overlord sneered, curling his lip up. He loved how the optics he stared into flashed down to his mouth and filled with terror. Offer rejected. Threat still valid. “I know exactly how ‘good’ you can be, and it’s hardly worth wasting my time. Try again!”

The order came out like a whip-crack, and Fort Max twitched as he tried to flinch but was held in place. “I-I…I…” He blinked, tried to look away, and only succeeded in miserably squirming in the warlord’s tight grip. An expression of revulsion broke through his mask-like expression for a second, but then he was lunging _into_ the hand on his chin.

Lashing out was somewhat expected, but Overlord felt rather smug at just how his pet did so this time. He’d taught this untamed Autobot well. The mech was hardly docile, but he was biddable enough under pressure. Trying to struggle loose would only worsen the punishment. It was either the two days of torture preceding this, or the prospect of the upcoming ordeal. The warlord would have to keep both in mind. Fortress Maximus bent marvelously under the threat, whichever it was.

The kiss itself wasn’t a particularly good kiss in terms of skill, but the taste of ruptured lubricant lines and utter humiliation made it quite nice overall. Fort Max offlined his optics, possibly to help endure the nauseating sense of shame welling at the back of his mouth like purged fuel. Overlord could taste its acidic burn. The warlord chuckled into the kiss and angled his head but otherwise made no move to encourage or dissuade his pet.

Who gagged on fear and thrust his glossa into Overlord’s mouth. It lapped hesitantly at his own, trying to coax the Phase Sixer out of passive acceptance and into taking control. The Autobot was willing to bend. He’d reached the point where obedience to the warlord’s whims was better than resistance. He just needed to know what was demanded of him!

Instead of taking over the kiss, Overlord sat up. Their mouths parted, leaving Fort Max gaping after him and panting as his injured body tried to dump repair-heat and terror. His hands, disjointed fingers and all, were clutching at the Phase Sixer’s lower legs as if to stabilize himself. Their tight grasp held the desperation his blank face didn’t.

The Autobot was nearly in Overlord’s lap by now, and the warlord looked down at him with a distinctly cool expression. “If you’re trying to show your appreciation for everything I’ve done for you, you are falling far short of the mark.”

Fortress Maximus swallowed hard, one optic still flickering and body pained. Two days of torture was getting off light compared to what his tormentor had put him through previously. Overlord didn’t make idle threats. Two days of agony would seem merciful if the warlord followed through on his threat, and Overlord found the idea more appealing by the minute. The crude brutality most Decepticons turned on their victims would seem refreshingly simple to endure at first, but the sheer length of time would have the Autobot pleading to be taken back in a month. If not, well, Overlord could always find ways to make straightforward physical violation much more…damaging. 

All of which his pet knew. What appeared like a horrible but potential escape from underneath Overlord’s heel was just another torture tool in the warlord’s never-ending arsenal. He was the personal slave to a possessive sadist. There could be no escape. There were only attempts to earn a temporary reprieve. 

“What can I do?” the Autobot asked hoarsely, unable to stop the fear from roughening his voice. “Please. Just tell me, and I’ll do it.” It was either bend, cave in and give Overlord whatever he wanted, or Fort Max would completely break. The Phase Sixer could feel uneven trickles of energy from the hands clutching his legs that betrayed how close to the edge his pet had been pushed. His own gloating pleasure radiated back. The hands on his legs let go as if burnt, but the kneeling mech couldn’t stop the way their electromagnetic fields mingled with each other.

Overlord looked at him, letting his smug triumph truly sink in. “I do wonder what you would say were I to question you about Aequitas now,” he mused, and an undisguised expression of stark horror twisted the warden’s face. Fort Max stammered, stricken, shaking his head in despair and refusal so fast he nearly fell over backward with the force of it. Metal squealed as he lost his balance and had to awkwardly half-turn to brace a hand against the floor. He spat a burst of static and fuel, too alarmed to stop himself, and Overlord threw his head back to roar with laughter.

Yes, Fortress Maximus was special. This pet, Overlord thought he just might keep for a very, very long time. He enjoyed this Autobot far too much to give the final blow. He would make this mech drink servitude down until it finally flooded his stubbornly strong will and drowned it. And when the submission spilled from his hollow body in an uninterrupted flow, then the Phase Sixer would stand back and wait for that hidden flame to rekindle. He had no doubt that it would. Even now, on his knees and groveling, Overlord fancied he could feel Fort Max’s mind racing for a way to turn the situation around on him.

Not a worthy opponent on the battlefield, but a challenge to defeat nonetheless. The Phase Sixer could not be happier with what Garrus-9 had given him. Aequitas had been a goal to try and claim, but the warden was the real prize. The Wreckers might have been a decent fight had he stayed, but Overlord wasn’t one for regrets. He’d left, and he’d gotten a truly entertaining pet out of it. That was enough to satisfy him until Megatron gave him the battle he craved. 

In the meantime, Overlord would continue to amuse himself.

Still laughing, he let a gun hatch on his torso flip open. Fortress Maximus’ panicked stuttering stopped dead. The Autobot now kneeling sidelong between his legs went stiff as the guns snapped down. Red optics cautiously watched them, but not because his pet feared being blasted. The object dangling from a thin chain wrapped around one barrel had the Autobot silent and still. The trembling of black helm flanges grew more obvious as Overlord casually unhooked the keycard and held it up between two fingers. His pet’s ventilation system stalled audibly.

“Why don’t you demonstrate your appreciation for my attention,” the Phase Sixer said when he finished laughing. His lips curved in a nasty smile. “You decide what we shall play together next. Perhaps if I found my toy to be more pleasing, I’d be less inclined to be, ah, generous toward those I decided to share him with. Would you like me to be more selfish, Maxy?” 

The Autobot’s optics were mesmerized as they followed the keycard. The hint of possible mercy inspired as much disgust as painful hope. “…yes. I -- yes.”

Overlord tossed it to the ground. “Go.”

Red optics followed the small keycard, and Fort Max started to move after it. He hesitated, however, unable to turn back but too afraid to turn completely away. The fear filling his body washed back and forth between the warlord’s legs like an electric circuit of building terror. Overlord watched, propping his elbow on the table at his side and smirking as his pet shook and tried to resolve some inner conflict. The black helm bowed a bit, almost touching the Overlord’s inner thigh, and the Autobot stared down at the mangled hands held in his lap. They clenched slowly, bleeding fuel as fragile self-repair clots split open.

When Fortress Maximus moved, it was to bend down and touch first his lips, then his forehelm to Overlord’s foot. Just as a well-trained, properly grateful, and ever-obedient slave should. The words came out strangled into a whisper: “Thank you.”

The Phase Sixer’s powerplant rumbled, and his smirk widened. He didn’t need to speak. Voluntary surrender was degrading enough for his poor pet. 

The Autobot rearranged himself between Overlord’s legs and repeated the small ritual of supplication and appeasement on the other foot. The tiny, humiliated whisper came again, and then he finally went after the keycard. He didn’t try to rise to his feet. Even if that wasn’t his place without permission, Overlord had sliced out part of the hydraulic system in his legs. The warden could walk, but he couldn’t stand without using something to haul himself up. The Phase Sixer was still debating whether or not to have the hydraulics fixed later. He thought his point had been made about where his pet belonged, but physical restraint did seem to keep the mech down longer. 

Fort Max crawled out of what had been the shuttle’s cargo bay toward what had been an armory before Overlord changed the small transport spacecraft to suit his own needs. Now the cargo bay was half a work area, which meant it resembled any office except for the rings set into the floor by the table and the chains hanging from the ceiling. The armory was mostly empty but for the locked tool rack he had just sent his pet to peruse. Overlord wondered what his pet would bring him. 

He’d just about made up his mind about the bar idea. It was a matter of choosing the correct location and deciding on the amount of time. The time would depend on what exactly Fortress Maximus brought him to pay penance with, and how low the Autobot cast himself under his feet. The location, on the other hand, could be decided now.

Using the remote console pad on the table, he brought up the outpost’s comm. frequency and pinged the non-essentials channel for an entertainment listing. An information packet came back within a couple of minutes. It included the local vidshow broadcast schedule, a notice for an unofficial hand-to-hand tournament, and advertisements for various locations of interests. 

The vidshow schedule was discarded immediately. The tournament got a brief read-through, and he put it aside to address later. Perhaps he should add his own touch to the local fight club. There were always takers when he put out challenges, at least for the first few rounds before word got out about how he didn’t pull his punches. It could be something to do while it lasted, in any case.

It was the advertisements he wanted. He browsed the ads, looking at the pictures and drink menus closely for what they combined to say about what the bars were really like. A bar with a pristine picture and rock-bottom prices meant the reality was far different than the picture. He was looking for a specific kind of bar: grungy, run-down, with clientele who were there because of bad moods instead of for socializing or good quality engex. A bar like that would have a proprietor greedy for as much money as could be squeezed from any opportunity that walked in, especially if it were installed on the floor and gifted to him for a set time. Once the money started to pour in, Overlord would easily be able to ‘suggest’ some changes to the bar to make it more comfortable for his own use. By the time he left, the bar owner would owe him and be happy about it, making a nice place to relax anytime he docked at that outpost. 

He’d narrowed his choices down to two places by the time the Autobot returned. Overlord had his back to the door, comparing the two locations up on the screen on the wall. Both pictures looked like someone had cleared away the broken glasses and mopped the spillage at the end of the night before calling it good enough. He found the honesty inspirational. He could almost see his pet featured amidst the squalor in advertisements like these.

The sound of limping footsteps didn’t make him turn. Instead, he merely beckoned with one hand lazily. “Come here, my dear. It’s only fair I have your opinion on where you’re welded down. You’re the one who will, hmm. Become intimately acquainted with the surroundings, I suppose one might say.”

The footsteps faltered. “But I…” A quiet sound that might have been further protest being gulped back came from behind the warlord, and suddenly there was a hurried rush of limping steps. Overlord’s lips quirked, but he didn’t look back. Oh, he hoped Fort Max was trying to attack him. He did so enjoy reminding his pet how easily subdued the Autobot could be. Physically dominating the warden ground that lovely sense of hopelessness in a little deeper every time.

Deep enough to have stuck today, it seemed. Instead of attacking, Fortress Maximus fell to his knees at Overlord’s side and pushed a complicated device into the Phase Sixer’s lap. “Please don’t do this,” he said, voice level but laced with white noise. “Forgive me, please. I regret my…ungrateful behavior. I will do better.” The words sounded as if he were reading them off a script. He’d probably composed and rehearsed his begging during the short period he’d been out of the room. He might have seemed unaffected by what he was saying if not for the way his hands shook as he braced them against one huge thigh to plead. “I’ll improve my attitude. I’ll show my appreciation for your -- ” the pause was short but still there, and Overlord smiled to hear it, “ -- your ownership. I can be, **will** be a good pet. Just let me serve.” The warlord chuffed air, amused at the hitches that couldn’t be ironed out of the monologue, and Fort Max winced. “Please.”

Overlord snorted in derision. They both knew that the promises of good behavior would only last until the pain receded or there were better odds of success. Still, the Autobot’s desperation was real enough. For the moment, at least, fear made the words sincere. The Phase Sixer graciously decided to at least consider the plea. His pet relaxed just slightly when the big hands that could do so much worse than pain opened, accepting the device. 

Ahhh. Now, this? This, he had not expected. The spindly arms of the chamber-skeleton clattered over his legs as he lifted it to inspect for sabotage -- and just to watch how his pet’s optics followed it. Overlord’s fingers stroked the control dials and clamps as if greeting an old lover, and the fixated optics filled with a haunted sort of resignation. This had been locked away in the tool rack for quite some time. 

That’d been the agreement, after Fortress Maximus finally accepted it as a substitute for his tattered fellow Autobots back in Garrus-9. The warden had willingly offered his mouth to spare theirs back then, but that leverage had been lost when Overlord dragged him away from the penitentiary. The warlord had used this as an alternative, however. It worked well as an incentive to cooperate. His pet’s total compliance after a few sessions with this device had tempted Overlord to use it more, but he tended to keep his word when the results were in his favor. Having Fort Max’s talented mouth at his disposal at any time had been worth putting this away on the rack.

Until now, it seemed. Apparently his pet really didn’t want to be welded down as a public frag-toy. The device he’d brought was meant to be penance. That was…charming. Overlord smiled, and it wasn’t mockery. Being surprised by this mech after everything Overlord had put him through made something almost like affection bloom across his systems. Some Decepticons found the antics of turbofoxes cute; Overlord found Fort Max’s unexpected choice of torture just as adorable. It was strangely cute, and it was also a turn-on.

The warden felt the hot scour of arousal rake down his front where he pressed against the side of Overlord’s leg, and the Phase Sixer saw how he fought not to flinch back. He looked up at his tormentor, face blank. Overlord set the chamber-skeleton down on the table and curled a finger under his pet’s chin, giving him his full attention. A thumb ran across dented lips. They parted instantly to take it in. 

Fortress Maximus turned his optics off and dipped his head, concentrating on that thumb. His denta set gently on the sides. Split lips closed around it. Overlord dimmed his own optics and allowed himself to enjoy the slow, familiar feel of a slick glossa exploring the friction pad of his thumb. The tip of his pet’s glossa traced back and forth over it, drawing suggestive spirals. The denta closed, scraping over the surface with just enough force to register as Fort Max pursed his lips a bit to keep the thumb enveloped in his hot mouth. Those lips pushed the thumb out just enough to slide off in a sucking kiss before opening to take it back in. He suckled, letting suction put more pressure on the sensor nodes he’d already teased to attention. 

The thumb turned, poking in, and it was gratifying how the Autobot’s glossa gave way before it. The mech parted his denta and sucked harder, pulling on its length in long, hard pulls. The hands that had been on Overlord’s thigh rose to set the fingertips against the Phase Sixer’s wrist, gently guiding it. Fort Max worked that thumb in and out, lips busily massaging and denta just barely scraping. His glossa gave way and made room, welcoming in a way the mech’s circuitry denied. Overlord felt the queasy, forced submission in how their EM fields met. 

His own greedily oozed over the fitful sputter of the kneeling mech’s. He sat at his ease in the chair, but even the energy bleeding off his circuits tried to consume his pet. He moved nothing but one hand, and Fortress Maximus submitted in every way before it.

“Is my pet sorry?” the warlord murmured, saccharine sweet.

Red optics lit. One focused intently on Overlord’s face, trying to read his expression. The other was still flickering erratically as self-repair worked on it. “Yes,” was spoken around the warlord’s thumb. The words were clear despite the obstruction, but said in a dull and lifeless voice. “I am. I’m sorry. Please, let me make up for my mistake.” The hands on Overlord’s wrist pulled it back until the thumb popped out of Fort Max’s mouth. It got a kiss on automatic. There was a flash of disgust when the Autobot realized what he’d done, and Overlord smirked. Not so lifeless, then.

The disgust disappeared as quickly as it’d appeared, walled off, and his pet ducked his head. Damaged hydraulics whirred, but the kneeling mech braced his hands against Overlord’s thigh to push himself up enough to bend forward over it. The Phase Sixer’s powerplant gave a pleased rumble when that black helm bent into his lap. The rumbling increased when the latches for his interface equipment were nibbled. Oh, Fortress Maximus knew how to tempt him. The Autobot could get his engines going when sufficiently motivated. The sight of his pet’s helm making those short, repetitive motions was nice, but the warmth of lubricant dripping from an injured mouth onto his plating made his interfacing systems fire online. 

Dread and sickened fear filled his lap as the Autobot shuffled around until he knelt once more between Overlord’s legs. Fort Max tried not to show it, but tension sent telltale crackles of energy over his body. Overlord felt the vibration of too-taut cables against his thighs and let his amusement soak his pet in response. The black helm hesitated but returned to its proper place over his pelvic span, attending to duties more often avoided or refused than attended with any sort of enthusiasm. Not so now. Now, there were dislocated fingers trying to caress his inner thighs and seduce him. That well-trained glossa laved carefully over every sensitive seam, coaxing the warlord to retract the panel. It swirled tiny patterns and swiped broadly over the panel, promising good behavior and a better frag. 

The bar pictures were still on the console’s wall screen. Overlord looked from them to the head working between his legs as if judging which was the best option. Even though the Autobot didn’t look up, the close clamp of his armor gave away that he remained very well aware of the threat hanging over him. 

Fortress Maximus had to turn his head at an angle to fit his helm down between the Phase Sixer’s thighs. He scattered kisses downward, finding the panel’s lower edge and giving it its due in encouraging licks and nuzzles. There wasn’t much the Autobot could do with the panel closed but try to invoke sensor-memories of just how well he could use his mouth when it wasn’t shouting defiance during a beating. And he could use it well, there was no denying that. 

The hot vent of air against the panel made Overlord relent at last, uncovering his equipment but not extending it. Let his pet work for that. 

It took a while. Fort Max burrowed his face into his tormentor’s lap, wedging his glossa into the narrow gap where Overlord’s screw went into the sleeve. He licked there, pampering the recessed tip with the slick slide of his glossa and the heated air he blew onto it. Lubricant from his injured mouth dripped down, greasing the mechanism. The anxious waves of electromagnetic energy crashing against the warlord’s calm EM field intensified when the screw remained in the sleeve. They both knew that the Autobot in no way actually wanted to be used by him, but right now? Right now the warden needed to please him, and this was his default method. The fact that it wasn’t working as planned had the Autobot as worried as what would happen if it _did_.

It was a lose-lose situation. The warden would lose if he were publicly punished; he would lose if it were done in private.

Overlord’s screw was uniquely designed. He’d had it restructured from a standard screw for his frametype into something resembling the inner core of an industrial burr grinder. As Fortress Maximus was personally far too aware of, there was no comfortable way to accommodate that. The warlord’s interfacing equipment was meant to file down the inner threads of whomever Overlord took. Coarse grinder blades that lined his threads. Every turn of that terrible screw didn’t just lock and unlock with his victim’s inner threads; they shaved off metal and sensor threads in slow, agonizing layers that hurt all the more when the circuit completed. Screwing turned energy transmission into a searing exercise of burning out already ultra-responsive equipment. 

Fortress Maximus did _not_ want that screw inside him again. His tap was a never-ending seethe of self-repair nanites continually building up stripped threads only for them to be ground down again. It wasn’t a pain anyone could adjust to. He didn’t want it, and he knew Overlord knew he didn’t want it, and Overlord smiled because they both knew that the Autobot would spread his thighs and beg for it at this point. The warden would make it good, too. Overlord could drag it out for a long time just to hear his pet try to keep the pained groans and cries muffled while still asking in halfway-convincing manner for harder, faster, screw him deeper, force it in and make that too-small tap fit.

The temptation to indulge himself was there. Overlord stroked a hand over his pet’s helm and thought about ordering him down onto all fours. There was something extremely pleasurable about mounting the smaller mech from behind. Maybe it was the way their size difference meant he could lift the warden’s knees off the floor just by impaling him fully and angling his hips up. The screw threads would lock him in, and it’d be impossible for Fort Max to slip free without being torn apart. The Autobot made such lovely little hushed noises when held like that. He bit his bottom lip and struggled to mute his vocalizer as gravity brought his weight down on the rasping slice of every screw turn. He couldn’t help but hold onto whatever part of the warlord he could reach to prop himself up off the worst of the in-and-out spiraling grind. For all his efforts, the metal would shriek as grated metal shavings pattered down on Overlord’s thighs. 

There were other variations on the position, however. There were times the Autobot needed no prompting. If he were too worn to endure degrading orders, the warden just gave up on preserving any sort of dignity and crouched like a technimal, and Overlord laughed every time at the spectacle. Seeing his pet behave as a real pet was always entertaining. The warden would lower himself to his elbows and cant his hips, presenting his tap for use. It was debatable whether that position was less painful overall, but Overlord found it just as satisfying. He could use Fort Max’s battered treads as handholds. That was always amusing. Sometimes he cut the treads loose from their wheels and wrapped them around his hands to use as reins, forcing his pet to move with him as he rode the mech in an inexorable, cruelly slow rhythm that couldn’t be escaped. The treads would jerk as he drilled steadily into the Autobot’s incompatible tap. 

The first damp squelch of a ruptured fuel micro-filament line as inner threads tore completely away, mmm. Yes. He’d overloaded more than once to that sensation, and felt his pet’s ventilation system seize up under him as the snapping jolt of energy transmitted directly through damaged nodes into the mech’s main sensor network. It ignited a heightened sense of power better than any mere climax every time. 

Stifled sounds of pain under him and vital fluids lubricating his screw? Just remembering it brought his screw slowly turning out of its sleeve, thick and abrasive.

Fort Max’s head angled more, suddenly making those little repetitive motions with more urgency. Overlord’s vents sighed, and his powerplant purred contentedly. The Phase Sixer let his head fall back and optics dim as he savored the fervent attention. The progress his pet had made was best reflected by how the mech practiced what he’d been taught, one tortured lesson at a time. Broken, no, but the Autobot had bent. 

Cyberkitten licks along the sharpened crests rewarded every turn, coaxing it upward as gentle nips and sucking kisses pressed along the sides. A mouth hot with self-repair work settled over the tip and suckled, trying to draw it out further. Overlord grunted quietly, taking ahold of his interfacing equipment commands and retracting his screw slightly before letting it turn out again. The screw spiraled in and out, in and out. Every half-turn back and forth rasped the crests over Fort Max’s glossa, cutting into the sides of his mouth, but the mech didn’t even pause. That dutiful mouth closed around the grinding motion, and his pet let himself be used however Overlord wished. The splits on the humbled Autobot’s lips opened again, and energon dripped in messy runnels down the channels of the screw. 

Eventually, Overlord extended fully. His pet was nearly in his lap by then, the remaining four undamaged fingers massaging the base of his screw. Cautious optics peered up from under a black helm as the warden watched him for a reaction. Fortress Maximus didn’t know what the Phase Sixer wanted next, and wariness filled his one good optic as he waited for instructions. 

Overlord looked to the side, and his pet winced. Not that it was unexpected, but the warlord still smiled at the fear when he lifted the chamber-skeleton off the table. The spindly arms rattled, and Fort Max’s helm flanges shook briefly as if in sympathy.

The warden looked down, away from the torture device soon to be used upon him. Two sounds came nearly simultaneously: the soft _click_ of an interface panel unlatching, and the louder clack of the Autobot’s central chest panel unlocking. 

Overlord’s lips curved richly in gloating triumph as the fingers left his screw. They went instead to the unlocked panel. For a moment, Fort Max’s hands hovered defensively over the thick armor, almost as if he were trying to protect the red insignia still branded there. The warden visibly steeled himself to grab the top edge and pull it open. It swung down on the bottom hinges, exposing his internal workings, and his maimed hands clumsily snapped open the latches for the two side panels. When he pulled them apart, it exposed the inside of his entire chest to his tormentor. 

He dropped his hands to his sides and bowed his head, submitting. 

Overlord’s smile never changed. His powerplant thrummed approval of what he saw, however. The massive hand not holding the chamber-skeleton reached out and stroked over the reinforced block in the center of his pet’s inner systems. No light escaped from the tightly-shut overlapping armor petals covering that chamber. Not yet, anyway.

“This would be much easier on you if you opened up yourself,” he remarked, tapping on the last defensive measure standing between his pet’s spark and his finger. There was a low squeak of metal as Fort Max gritted his denta. The spark chamber’s protective layers stayed stubbornly closed. Overlord hadn’t expected an answer, really. The comment had been merely to rub rust into the Autobot’s sense of helpless despair. It practically radiated from the spark under the shell Overlord fondled. 

He hummed a cheery tune as he positioned the chamber-skeleton inside his pet’s chest. Fort Max’s ventilation system seemed to have stalled completely; the warden was breathing from his mouth in quick, short pants. Those hitched as the device’s magnets attached to the top of his spark chamber with a heavy thump. The panting became a sort of hissed breath when Overlord gave the thing a testing tug that shook the whole chamber but didn’t budge the skeleton. 

Then came the magnets on the end of every arm, and even the panting stopped. Every magnet that clamped down got a twitch. Dislocated fingers creaked as Fortress Maximus’ hands closed into fists at his sides. The Phase Sixer delicately attached an arm to every overlapping sheet of armor protecting his pet’s spark, and the Autobot began to shake. Despair, hatred, and something worse glittered over Fort Max’s internal systems in zapping flickers of electromagnetic energy. That crackle of excess charge was exactly what Overlord had wanted, however, and his pet couldn’t stop it from building. 

The last arm attached. Overlord made sure to knead his thumbs around the circumference of the spark chamber’s access portal, firmly stroking the outer petals, and his pet’s vents moaned as system overrides kicked in to switch them back on. Fort Max’s fans were abruptly all spinning full-bore, trying to dump the heat that’d been amped up by the light touches to the Autobot’s most intimate array.

He bent down to whisper by the shivering black helm. “Last chance, my dear pet. Open it yourself, or I’ll do it for you.”

The Autobot didn’t respond. Shaking his head or speaking aloud would be defiance and could be punishable as such. He just kept his optics downcast and his mouth shut. The hands on his spark chamber patted it like the cherished belonging it was. 

“Very well. As you wish.”

The chamber-skeleton’s arms began to retract. Fortress Maximus held out as long as he could, but a vocalizer could only be muted so much. His first scream was a choked sound more static than anything as metal peeled back. The petal hinge squealed louder. The second petal peeled back to the sound of a real scream, however, and the third exposed sparklight to the huge Phase Sixer sitting there watching the show. The magnets clamped on the armored chamber panels vibrated as the chamber-skeleton pushed more power into its arms, and the Autobot threw his head back, optics blazing and jaw clenched on something that wasn’t quite a scream any longer. The arms were strong enough to peel the overlapping layers back one by one, and the magnets pulsed over circuitry keyed to register even the slightest contact from energy or touch.

This was why his pet would do almost anything to avoid this particular device. Overlord sat there and smiled, enjoying how the warden shook down to the struts and utterly failed to suppress shuddery moans of utmost pleasure. He reached out to tease at the widening opening, and Fort Max whined pathetically behind gritted denta. 

Such a useful device. There was so much that could be done once a mech’s spark chamber was cracked open. 

Overlord dipped his fingers into the half-open chamber, quickening the process as involuntary pleasure weakened the lockdown. His pet’s ventilation systems sobbed large, ragged circulations of air in a desperate attempt to cool systems that were only beginning to warm. By the time Overlord finished with him, he intended the Autobot to be a limp, steaming pile of overheated limbs too exhausted to do more than lie at his feet and silently marinate in shameful memories. 

If those proved too easy for his pet to block out, then Overlord would just have to sit his pet on his thigh and review the lesson as they watched the security camera’s record of events. He might edit the highlights of this session into a nice packet for the local vidshow station to broadcast. He’d forward a copy to that green Wrecker, too, just to keep the Autobots in the loop. He did like the death threats the Wreckers kept sending back. 

“What would your faction think of you now?” he murmured to his pet, stroking the ball of plasma quivering inside the chamber. It was being revealed, one armored petal at a time, and it squirmed about under his fingertips as if remembering what kind of agony he could inflict on it if he so chose. “I’m sure they would attempt to rescue you out of some misplaced sense of moral obligation, but you and I know the truth. Trying to save you would be a waste of lives and resources, because what’s left of you to save?” His voice was kind. Kind, and as false as the soft, relentless touch of his fingers. 

Fort Max arched and cried out. The blank mask cracked, showing a frantic, wild mech raped to the verge of an overload, and Overlord’s free hand slid up to cup the back of his neck. Smirking lips pressed to the side of the Autobot’s helm, and the poisoned words were stated so very reasonably. “There’s nothing left of who you were but a used piece of shareware. Let them see you like this, let them see you as you truly are, and they’d leave you where you belong: here, with me. Unless, that is,” he added, fingers spreading inside the spark chamber as the last protective petal peeled away, “they wanted to pass you around themselves. I suppose even Autobots have **needs**.” 

“N-nnnya **aaaaaa _aah!_** ”

If that had been meant to come out as a denial, it failed miserably. Shivery, garbled sounds escalated into a shout as Overlord’s fingers closed, pinching the spark. The Autobot tipped into overload. The energy discharge jolted the warden with electric current and wrecked him with pleasure, and he gave an uncontrolled yell loud enough to cause vocalizer reset. 

The Phase Sixer laughed heartily, not minding the snapping shock of charge on his palm in the least. He got to his feet and hauled the Autobot upright even as the overload finished ripping through his pet. Fortress Maximus thrashed in his hands, abused vocalizer clicking back online to give a long, low moan. It was a thoroughly debauched and undignified sound, but the Autobot was beyond caring as spark-deep pleasure suspended higher functions beneath undiluted bodily bliss. The sight was as gorgeous as ever, superimposed as it was over how his EM field sank under sick humiliation. 

Fort Max’s circuitry ached, transmitting self-loathing and hatred that Overlord smugly soaked in. The warden’s optics bled loathing as he lifted his head to meet his tormentor’s delighted look. That loathing dropped into a pit of horror and hatred when a single finger tickled the corona of his spark. No matter how unwilling his mind, the Autobot couldn’t stop his body from heating up rapidly as fingers stroked him again.

“Beautiful,” Overlord complimented, turning to sit him down in the chair. “Your spark is always so, mmm, **responsive**. I could easily believe you were forged for this.” He loomed over his pet, one hand inside the warden’s spark chamber. He gently squeezed the flashing, fitzing ball of plasma until it wrung a genuine whimper of need from his pet. “You’d make a fine berth-warmer for the grunt barracks. Take these off completely, perhaps,” he tapped the splayed chamber petals, “and let the officers have you.” He straightened to look at the console screen on the wall. “How much could one of these bars make off an auction? For the opportunity to play with an Autobot’s spark for an hour? A night?” He considered the scenarios, hand on his chin as he thought. Strict supervision would be required to keep over-enthusiastic Decepticons from extinguishing the Autobot during interfacing, but the idea had merit. 

Fort Max slumped on the chair, violated and horribly aroused by the handling of his spark. The ordeal was far from over, however, and he stared up at his tormentor when Overlord glanced down at him. It amused the warlord that his pet still tried to keep a stoic façade despite everything. The Autobot’s spark fluttered brilliantly in its unprotected chamber, yet he still refused to show any expression. Fortress Maximus parted his thighs and offered himself on the edge of the chair, practically begging to be taken, but his mouth compressed to a grim line.

The warden likely thought he knew how this would go. Past sessions with the chamber-skeleton had focused on forcing his pet to squeal and jerk into every touch, especially those inside his pet’s tap. Overlord could make his pet’s screw respond, but taps were harder to coax into lighting up. Except, that was, when the spark was involved. Right now there were thread-thin traceries of lightning crawling around the open rim between Fort Max’s thighs. The charge had amped up so high the warlord knew his pet would hunch over and clutch at his helm if he knelt to sample it. The taste of the warden’s tap would be as delicious as his lack of control. It didn’t matter what the Autobot actually wanted. At this point, Overlord could finger him in front of Optimus Prime, and all Fortress Maximus would probably do was turn his face away as he bucked into Overlord’s hand.

With fingers playing inside his spark chamber, the warden became as uninhibited as a pleasurebot whose fee had just cleared. 

Overlord leaned over him, bracing one huge hand on the chair back. He took his time winding his favorite toy up with the gentlest of caresses. Fort Max kept his legs spread, the offer ready and waiting, but turned his head away to hide his face. That didn’t stop the sounds. The Phase Sixer cocked his head and listened, repeating the touches that earned soft whimpers and strained, badly-suppressed cries. Injured or not, his pet’s body responded in lovely little writhing motions and shudders. It contrasted sharply against the aura of stubborn protest projecting off every rigidly-held limb. 

Begging for it, but still refusing to give up. Bent, but not broken. 

The warden was a magnificent mech. Truly out of the ordinary.

Overlord was never more turned on then when he destroyed something exceptionally special. “Hands behind you,” he ordered. “Hold onto the chair.”

Resigned, Fort Max put his hands back and obeyed the command. His hands were too damaged to close tightly, but they got a decent grip on the chair back near the seat. That pulled his arms back and arched his back struts slightly. It angled his hips perfectly for Overlord to simply kneel and take him in the chair.

It also left absolutely nothing to defend his chest. Not that he _could_ with all the armor plating unlatched and opened, but the visceral feeling of vulnerability wasn’t something that logic could affect. Overlord could feel the taint of fear seep through his pet’s already fluctuating EM field as he bent forward, caging the Autobot into the chair.

That fear increased, stinging over Overlord’s plating. Fort Max had noticed the Phase Sixer wasn’t following the usual pattern. The unknown was cause for terror anyway, but now the Autobot took note of how Overlord was positioning himself. Wide optics glanced down at the massive legs pressed to the outside of his own, straddling him. It wasn’t accidental how the warlord had stepped this close.

The chair had been made specifically for Overlord’s frame. He was taller than his pet Autobot. That put Fort Max, sitting down, almost at the perfect height. Almost, but that was a fixable thing. Overlord put his hands on the warden’s treads and pushed down. White outlined red optics as the frames widened too far. The Autobot slid down on the seat under the push, but his mouth shaped a disbelieving denial as he looked between his chest and the screw held before it.

“Objections, pet?” 

Fortress Maximus delayed answering, opening and closing his mouth twice like he couldn’t find words to speak with. He stared fixedly at the jagged edges of a screw meant to grind, meant to hurt. Overlord pushed his hips closer, and the Autobot shrank back in startled reflex. A swallow worked throat tubing, and not even the intense, liquid gush of aroused charge swirling around the warden’s spark could make him stop trembling. 

“No,” he managed hoarsely. He looked as if he might say more, but then he pressed his lips into a thin line.

The hands on his treads pulled him back into position. He resisted for only a split second. 

“Say it,” Overlord ordered. His screw turned, rotating with a grating noise, and his hips gave a suggestive thrust forward. His pet jerked again and looked up, terror visible under a pitifully transparent mask of apathy. It was nice to know the warden had a strong sense of self-preservation after all this time. The will to live could be such a frail thing under torture. 

The Autobot licked his lips. “I.” He looked down at the screw poised to stab into his spark. When he looked up again, he’d wrestled his expression into a grimace. It covered his fear better than the attempt at non-expression, but it did nothing to hide how his spark spun frantically at the back of its chamber. “I want this,” the warden forced out sullenly. The hands on his treads opened and drummed down one finger at a time. The screw gave a grinding turn for every finger. Fort Max averted his optics. “Please.”

The Phase Sixer heaved an exaggerated sigh. “My patience is not infinite, Fortress Maximus.”

He thought for a split second that it was too much. The Autobot’s optics narrowed, and the grimace became a mulish glare to the side. Overlord’s smile ticked up at the corners in anticipation, and the grating churn of his screw picked up. He lusted after that tantalizing hint of rebellion.

Dark hunger exploded in his gut, enflaming his very circuitry. The excess charge ran down his plating to drench the mech between his legs with perverse desire. Alarmed, Fort Max’s head whipped around.

The warden stared up into his optics and cringed away from what he saw there. “I-I’m sorry. I’ll be good. Please, I want to be used.” The Autobot shifted uncomfortably, peeled open and exposed, and red optics darted from the hulking Phase Sixer to the screen just barely visible behind Overlord’s mass. The reminder of what awaited him seemed to defeat Fort Max. “I want this,” he said quietly, not quite whispering.

Overlord stayed silent, merely looking down at his captive. He let the dread build. This was a glorious power he held over his pretty pet, and he did so enjoy that moment of submission when the warden bowed before him.

At last, he trailed a hand down from one tread, over Fort Max’s shoulder, and down into the open chest cavity. The Autobot shuddered. The quivering spark throbbed under Overlord’s fingers, and he bent to tenderly kiss the side of the black helm despite how his pet flinched back. “Are you a good pet, Maxy?” he crooned. “A good pet would show his gratitude for being trained.”

Overlord’s syrupy comment had the subtlety of a whiplash. Vents hitching with bursts of hot air, the warden clenched his hands on the chair while his spark was teased back into roiling excitement. Fort Max gulped in air and gasped out, “Yes. I’m good p-pet. Thank you…f-for trai **nnn** _ing!_ mm…me.”

“That’s better,” the warlord praised. “Such a good pet.” The hand twirling stray bits of plasma around the fingers left Fortress Maximus’ spark chamber and wrapped around his own screw. He guided it forward, grunting a bit with the pleasure of drilling against his palm. His other hand pulled on the Autobot’s treads, bringing the mech’s open chest to meet him. He pushed into the chamber slowly.

Fort Max gave a thin whine and lurched in the chair, straining to remain in place like an obedient slave. For once, Overlord didn’t care. Watching the Autobot suffer was a secondary concern right now. Right this moment, his optics narrowed and he could only concentrate on the vent-stalling _intensity_ of what he felt.

He should have done this a long time ago. Oh, he should have. 

Pure energy rippled over the sensor-laden surface of his screw, conforming to every ridge and surface in a way that a tap never could. The only thing he could compare it to was thrusting directly into a mech’s fuel pump while it still beat, but no. No, this was better. It kept going and going, responding in a way that mere machinery couldn’t. This was the essence of his pet giving way before him, surrounding him, _pleasuring_ him with every iota of energy in the Autobot’s body. The Phase Sixer pressed into the spark, and it gave way before him. 

Plasma spat out from the core in distress, bleeding out to the corona, but Overlord’s screw turned. It turned, and caught the semi-solid streamers. They flickered and burnt, melting the thinnest blades, but the rough abrasives imbedded between the threads hooked the plasma. Bright sparklight spiraled up the screw one grinding turn at a time. 

Fortress Maximus’ whine became a shriek, but Overlord’s loud groan of sadistic pleasure drowned out the high-pitched sound. Plasma caught and shredded, stretched over the warlord’s specialized interface equipment as it dragged energy outward. The core of the spark spasmed, a strobe-light of pain in the back of its chamber. Hands abruptly shoved at his thighs, and Overlord laughed maniacally. He let his hips be pushed back only for his pet to realize just how bad an idea that really was. Fort Max screamed again, clinging to the warlord’s thighs as desperately as he’d pushed them away, but it was too late. 

The push had stretched the Autobot’s spark out even further, even more painfully, and new torment juddered through the suffering mech as the Phase Sixer’s screw reeled in the new slack. There was only so much pain a mech could take. Once his pet started screaming, he didn’t seem to be able to stop. 

Overlord’s laughter became somewhat breathless as his fans blasted hot air, trying to cool him. He looked down at the helm tucked against his midriff and found it immensely hilarious. Fort Max was all but embracing him around the waist. The warden’s EM field spiked terror and sheer agony, and the mech’s processors were too stunned by it to realize just whom he was clinging to. 

Overlord himself moaned appreciatively. The gelatinous fire winding up his screw stimulated every sensor, pulled further and further up the helix until the streamers tore apart in the threads. The shredded scraps of Fort Max’s spark helplessly fluttered back to the main core, running down the sharp crests of the warlord’s screw before melding back into the whole. Only to be snared again by the spinning pull as the screw kept twisting in the corona.

He pushed on his pet’s treads, getting another piercing shriek in return. The warden scrambled to cling even closer, pushing his chamber forward. He impaled himself on the thick screw tearing his spark to shreds. It was preferable to stretching the plasma threads out and _then_ grinding them to bits, apparently. Overlord chuckled and did it again. The overload was building, and he couldn’t wait to see what a substantial bolt of discharge would do to his pet’s spark. Would it fry the chamber’s sensitive circuitry, or would the spark itself be forced to absorb the charge? 

He rather hoped his overload would feed so much energy into the warden’s spark that it’d tip his pet from screaming in pain to wailing with pleasure. Or both.

There were words starting to tumble out of the garbled static. Begging. Verbal prostration of the most degrading type: pleading for mercy, offering substitute acts of servitude, and promises of worship and willing submission. All things Fort Max earnestly meant at that moment. Overlord rolled his hips, and the groveling stuttered, overwhelmed by pain. It picked back up again immediately. The black helm began to nuzzle against him, and there were kissed being pressed along the seams of his gun hatches as his pet wildly beseeched him stop, please _stop._

Overlord didn’t. If anything, his screw turned faster.

He predicted two days before Fortress Maximus recovered enough. The Phase Sixer watched the Autobot convulse, beginning to seize up as spark-deep torture forced system shutdown, and he smirked. The drilling pace picked up. Maybe three days, or four. Soon, however. His pet would try murdering him again very soon, no matter what promises were being babbled right now. 

He’d allowed the extraordinarily strong-willed mech unsupervised access to the shuttle’s tool rack, after all. It was exciting not knowing what had been removed and hidden away for later. And there would be a later. Not always, no, no matter how special a pet this Autobot was -- but for now, until one or the other of them was dead.

He had won the battle yet again today, and the spoils were sweet. Tomorrow, however, was another battle, and it was still to be seen if Overlord could win the war.

**[* * * * *]**


	3. After

**Title:** Siege: After  
**Warning:** Overlord’s not a good guy. Seriously, Overlord’s not nice. Overlord = bad. Outright rape and torture.  
**Rating:** R  
**Continuity:** IDW, AU.  
**Characters:** Overlord, Fortress Maximus  
**Disclaimer:** The theatre doesn’t own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.  
**Motivation (Prompt):** The bits and pieces of _Siege_ from before and after, taken out of _Candy From Strangers_ and finally assembled.

**[* * * * *]**

He did so love the little out-of-the-way outposts. The Decepticons sent the dregs of the faction out here to rot, fermenting in their own perversions far away from public outcry. Why execute the criminally unacceptable when there were conveniently isolated borders of the Empire to send them away to? Label them guards and get some use out of them.

Overlord reclined on the cramped shuttle berth, turning his head to pillow it on the arm folded behind his helm. It gave him a different perspective to study the already intriguing device the sadist with the machine shop had sent him. It was the best use for a ‘guard’ he’d ever seen, and he thoroughly approved. Decorative restraints were a joy to use, especially on someone tamed to heel. Fortress Maximus could but _didn’t_ snap out of the lacy things, and that made all the difference in Overlord’s enjoyment of putting him in the things. 

These restraints, however, were far more delightful. Something practical but painfully over-the-top. It provoked such a lovely reaction.

He smiled and lifted his hand off his chest to twirl a finger. “Turn, Maxy.”

It had been a couple of months since the last time he’d gotten an honest reaction out of his pet, but everything was on display today. Fortress Maximus couldn’t hide the shame shaking him. Optics lowered, the former warden slowly turned in place.

“Stop.”

The treads mounted on Fort Max’s back were already taut, but turned, exposed to Overlord’s lascivious gaze, they drew tight enough to vibrate on their mountings. He stopped as told to, despite that. Tensed, dreading what would come, he stood obediently facing the wall. Except for a large dent he likely remembered all too well, the wall was polished to a mirror shine. Overlord made certain his pet kept it reflective just for this purpose. It faithfully reflected every depravity he subjected the ex-warden to, forcing Fort Max to see what he’d become. What Overlord had made of him.

Today, the mirror reflected the panicked blaze of an opened spark chamber. Downcast optics or not, Fort Max had to squint against the terror-bright light of his own naked spark, and Overlord chortled a rich mocking rumble at the uncomfortable, absolutely mortified expression laid out across his pet’s face. 

Watching his pet witness such an abject humiliation amused the Warrior Elite, but the view from behind was quite nice on its own. Overlord pulled his optics from Fortress Maximus’ shame and instead traced them over the gift he’d been sent. He’d have to remember to send a Thank You note. Really, the restraints were ingenious, and a thoughtful gift besides. The Decepticons banished to the borders knew him so well!

“Maxy, do remind me to thank Findkeep,” he ordered lazily, and the network of straps criss-crossing broad shoulders shifted as his pet cringed. Pale red optics flicked from side-to-side, evading the steady, amused reflection of Overlord in the wall. It smiled, menacing kindness from in front and behind, leaving him nowhere to retreat. “Maaaaxy. I believe I gave you a command. **Don’t** make me repeat myself.” 

The straps creaked, Fortress Maximus cringed in on himself so far, but the Autobot slave nodded once in quick, reluctant acknowledgement of the order. He’d remind Overlord later.

“Good,” Overlord said just to see his pet flinch. Sweet praise of Fort Max’s obedience always ground him that much further down.

It wasn’t as though Overlord really needed the reminder. He’d remember fine on his own, but it tickled his sense of humor to give Fort Max little tasks like that. By now, daily duties piled up on the ex-warden’s back, a list of small humiliations he bent under. He kept a stoic mask, but Overlord could feel the fierce licks of hatred and teeth-gritting willpower filling the mech’s EM field as Fort Max had to choose obedience, over and over, knowing and hating that he was doing as he was told like a good, well-trained slave should. It was a painless, domestic, everyday agony Overlord added new tweaks to whenever he could, and the results were a torture as ruthless as if he’d stretched Fort Max on a rack, the turn of the handle slowly tearing him apart. Praising him afterward was simply adding sand to his joints. It was a little irritant magnified to a grating pain in context.

The threat of _consequences_ made a battle of obedience versus avoidance a long battle Fortress Maximus inevitably lost. If he obeyed, Overlord patted him on the helm and praised him. If he dared disobey, punishment loomed. Worse, Overlord loomed. The Decepticon waited, optics gleaming anticipation as he watched Fort Max fight to be tame, to bide his time.

He’d lost that fight today, and Overlord had enjoyed his pet’s loss of control immensely. He took his time enjoying the aftermath as well.

Overlord enjoyed tying the ex-warden up in knots until the mech surrendered to whatever crushing servitude he ordered, but there was something to be said for taking any sort of control away. The pleasure found in Fort Max’s trembling hands coaxing his knees to part was exquisite, as was a bleeding mouth leaving wet, hate-filled marks up his inner thighs, but the jerk and struggle while overwhelming the Autobot, pinning him down and tying him up, his pet knowing all the while what was coming and yet unable to stop Overlord no matter how hard he fought…well. That got him every kind of excited.

Overlord had been revved up from simply taking the harness out of the gift box and seeing fear dawn in Fortress Maximus’ stoic expression. The strapping had looked a tangled mess at first, but as Overlord patiently sorted it out, the clamps at the ends had made abrupt sense. Fort Max’s fans had skipped and rattled, hitching in complete horror. Overlord’s arousal had grown to a delicious burn as he’d advanced on the former warden, cornering him, and Fort Max had retreated. It was a useless, futile gesture of defiance, a refreshing change from dull surrender. Overlord had let him attempt to stay out of reach, pursuing him in a slow chase through the shuttle. There was nowhere to go, but Fort Max had shied away despite knowing better. Crushing defeat should have been a familiar weight by this point, but wasn’t that the thrilling part of keeping this particular pet?

The Decepticon’s lust had reached a lurching, piercing peak almost like overload when Fort Max snapped. The ex-warden actually attempted to fight back! It had been months since the last time he’d lashed out, and this hadn’t been planned. It’d been foolish, doomed to fail, but that excited Overlord so much more. A spontaneous attack, violence born of sudden overwhelming fear and the kind of despair that convinced prisoners they had nothing left to lose, was amazing at this point in his pet’s training. Fortress Maximus should have been brought to heel long ago. 

Oh, the spirit in this one. Every time Overlord thought Fort Max broken past recovery, there remained an ember unsnuffed, just waiting for the opportune moment to burst back into flame. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of toying with this pet.

Holding the semi-conscious, dazed mech down as he put him into the harness had been a joy. Overlord had savored the moment Fort Max recovered his wits enough to start struggling again. Even beaten to cowering, he refused to tamely accept this.

Good. The lust burning in Overlord’s tanks hadn’t been stoked this high in months. It drew claws through his chassis, running live wire fires under his armor as he let his gaze linger on the buckles laid flat on Fortress Maximus’ plating. Lacing up the back, the harness could be controlled by pulling the straps through various buckles. It was a cruel concept by itself, since the straps couldn’t be loosened by the one strapped into the harness. Pulled taut, the harness held the its wearer open.

Not helpless, but open. Overlord had taken care of the helpless part. 

Fists shook at the small of Fort Max’s back, locked in cuffs Overlord hadn’t needed to use on his darling ex-warden since dragging him to their most favorite bar for a particularly memorable lesson on why a good pet should be grateful to have a kind Decepticon like Overlord for an owner. There had been a lengthy tour through the barracks of one of the more _isolated_ outposts afterward, just in case it wasn’t clear that a good pet should demonstrate his gratitude often, lest his owner feel unappreciated and, perhaps, less than kind.

Fortress Maximus had been such a good pet since then. The cuffs hadn’t been necessary. 

Until today, but a minor behavioral slip-up could be forgiven. He seemed to regret his earlier disobedience, for the most part. “Turn,” Overlord commanded again. “Face me this time.”

Treads twitched in another cringe, but Fort Max shuffled about to face him. The Autobot kept his optics downcast, helm bent as if humbled, but it was humiliated fear that kept him bowed and they both knew it. The ball gag stuffed into his mouth turned panted breaths into small, panicked noises. Every time he worked his jaw, the too-tight strap dug into the sides of his mouth. 

“Ohhh, does it hurt?” False sympathy filled Overlord’s voice, brittle shards of glass intended to slice Fort Max to the quick. A muffled sound, maybe a whine or a growl, answered him. Overlord tsked and sat up, taking his time. 

His lust swelled in equal measure to the terror whirling the ex-warden’s spark into a fast, fear-bright spin. Leisurely standing, he meandered closer to his pet, telegraphing every move in exaggerated strides and overdone motions of his hands. Fortress Maximus flinched back, optics darting to his face and away, but Overlord had tested him many times today. This time, he saw Overlord coming and forced himself to stay in place as he’d been ordered. 

“Much better,” Overlord praised him. He deliberately reached one hand out very slowly. Misery radiated off of the Autobot, dropping into cold shame the closer his hand got.

The shame wobbled into relief when his hand changed direction at the last second, going up to finger the strap cutting into Fort Max’s mouth. The relief tinged with sick gratitude, and it poisoned itself into a new, churning brew of humiliation that stood out from his pet’s energy field in heavy spikes. The Autobot was _grateful_ his master had decided not to violate him, and he hated himself for being grateful for that. 

Being spared was a privilege, one he treasured. He didn’t want to, but he did, and he knew exactly how Overlord manipulated him using that tiny sliver of mercy. 

Overlord smiled. “Look at you,” he mocked. “All dressed up and nowhere to go. Yet, hmm?”

His hand dropped to Fort Max’s shoulder, and the Autobot hunched forward in an involuntary attempt to protect what had been pried apart, propped open, and put on display in a blatantly sexual abuse of a Cybertronian’s most private, vulnerable part. Overlord had taken his spark many times and in various painful ways, but this sadistic harness wasn’t a torture tool. It was meant for decoration. It was meant to display a living being as a thing. It was meant to emphasize how powerless its wearer was, show him as broken slave and well-trained pet, and it flattened Fort Max under cringing, whimpering shame. He couldn’t handle the helpless exposure. 

He was naked for anyone and everyone to ogle, molest, and use. His core self was open to whatever was done to it, and he couldn’t do anything.

It was going to get worse. It always got worse.

Humiliation and horror filled Fortress Maximus’ EM field. Fear tightened the shutters around his optics. Overlord’s tanks jolted as hopeless optics looked up at him, begging for mercy, for not this, for anything but this. Lust crested in one of those pleasurable ripples deep in the Decepticon, and he grunted. Fort Max was intimately familiar with that sound. He shuddered. He knew Overlord had no pity, he had to know that, but slivers of hope fed his pathetic begging. 

It was wonderfully satisfying to watch the Autobot grovel. Overlord licked his lips and asked, “Are you ready to behave?” His thumb rubbed the inside of a peeled-back chest panel, hinting at going further.

His pet whined, vents puffing hot air and fear pouring off his energy field. What Overlord meant, they both knew, was whether Fort Max would cover his spark with his hands again if the cuffs were taken off. Overlord had reintroduced his pet to the heights of agony after a single defiant attempt at tearing the harness off, but breaking Fort Max of the little habits of self-defense was proving more of a trial. Fortress Maximus had a cute but annoying habit of standing in otherwise well-trained obedience except for the flutter of frantic hands in front of his exposed spark. Overlord had beaten him, but it seemed that pain alone wouldn’t break him of the bothersome habit.

It wasn’t as if Fort Max’s hands provided any sort of real protection, but Overlord wanted an unimpeded view. Resistance was a pastime he wanted his pet to trot out another day. Right now, he had a new toy. He wanted to play with it. Fort Max’s feelings on the matter were unimportant. Training was therefore necessary.

Fortress Maximus begged with his optics, energy field straining to mesh with Overlord’s. Overlord allowed the gesture, idly savoring the pleading pushed at him by his pet, but the ex-warden’s shaking became more violent at the vicious pleasure swamping Overlord’s powerful EM field.

“No? Hmm. Obviously I’m indulging you too much if this is the result.” Overlord’s field pulsed satisfaction as already pale optics blanched.

Optics wide, Fort Max immediately dropped to his knees, bending forward against the harness and his bound hands. Muffled words denied that fervently as he nuzzled at Overlord’s feet. No, no, discipline wasn’t needed! Overlord’s good pet was ready to do as ordered. He was a _good_ pet, a grateful slave, and he’d obey, he’d _obey_.

Stark terror lapped trembling waves of electromagnetic energy over the Decepticon’s feet. Fort Max’s circuitry bled shivering ripples in sync with the whirl of his spark. His pet, Overlord had noticed, would do practically anything to avoid being welded to the floor of a bar as a public fixture a second time.

So he wasn’t surprised that the Autobot obeyed this time around. His hands shook, curled into helpless claws half-raised at his sides when Overlord took the cuffs off, but Fortress Maximus sucked in a deep vent and locked his arms to his sides. Overlord bent over him, watching closely. A reflexive flinch brought his hands up, but not for long. Overlord laughed softly as the ex-warden forced them back down a moment later, leaving that pretty spark exposed for his pleasure. 

And it was indeed a pleasure.

“Much better.”

**[* * * * *]**

**[* * * * *]  
_Fortress Maximus - “harmless”_  
[* * * * *]**

**  
 **Long, long afterward. After rescue, on the _Lost Light_ , but Fortress Maximus still can’t quite believe he’s been saved.**  
**

Rung called them harmless fantasies. Frag dreams: the things the mind thought of when the body needed release. The mind still knew right from wrong, but sometimes the body desired. And it was alright, he said, hand soft on Fortress Maximus’ arm as if he didn’t dare apply any pressure. It was the first time the warden of Garrus-9 had outright asked his advice on something, and even though the psychotherapist knew the topic was a delaying tactic to dodge more questions until the end of the session, he still answered. 

_”Our bodies gather charge in different ways, and often in ways we don’t wish.” A wry smile twisted the slender mech’s thin lips. Fort Max saw it and wondered. “Imagining what you wish to release it does no harm. It’s a fantasy. Some fantasies can be given form, but not all.“ He leaned forward, eyeridges asking the question about just what his patient was dreaming about that he was so uncomfortable. But Rung didn’t press verbally; not about this. “There’s no shame in using your imagination, Max.”_

There was. Fortress Maximus hunched over the edge of his too-small berth and marinated in it. 

Yet some part of him had fastened on the psychotherapist’s assurance. The little mech was millions of years older than him. As stubborn as Fort Max was when it came to acknowledging the therapist might be right about opening up about what had happened at Garrus-9, the depths of his mind wanted to believe Rung about this. No shame. No need for embarrassment or humiliation. It was just a harmless fantasy that never had go beyond the door of this room, that didn’t have to last a second beyond what it took to get release. 

He glanced around the room, licking his denta. The camera was blocked, which he was sure would drive Red Alert mad, but Fortress Maximus wasn’t the type who could screw under surveillance. Even -- no. His glossa ran around his mouth again, less nerves than an automatic gesture being in a coma hadn’t stopped. The medics at Delphi had done a good job. His denta were all in place again. He’d only been missing three from the left side, but every absent denta had held significance. He wondered what they’d thought of that: his perfectly unharmed mouth, but for those three pulled-out denta. Everything else had been worked over, pried at and raked over and mutilated, but not his mouth. 

He didn’t want to think about what they’d thought while repairing his interfacing equipment. His internal threads had been stripped. It’d been a long and painful process of repeated violation by too wide a diameter that’d -- why was he even _thinking_ about that? 

The warden glanced around the room again, gaze lingering on the console. He’d turned the communication frequency on and left the volume on low. He couldn’t tell who was talking, or about what. The voices murmured erratically, which was what he wanted. 

_The room was never silent._

Shame slowed him, but not as much as he kind of wished it would. He pulled his legs up on the berth and rolled until he was up on his knees. His glossa ran another automatic circuit around his denta, probing the places there’d been holes, and he tried to feel more shame than sick arousal for caving this way. His body wanted this, but did he really need to give in to it? It seemed he did.

On his knees, he retracted his interface panel and unfocused his optics. It added up in his mind: the distant sound of voices, the dim lighting of the room, kneeling back on his heels this way. The perverted desire burning in his circuits brought his screw turning out of its tap. That already was more than he’d managed in the washracks listening to Rodimus’s clever fingers coax Ultra Magnus into forgetting every footnote ever memorized. That _should_ have been hot enough -- frag, who didn’t have half an optic locked on their captain’s aft at all times? -- but it hadn’t been.

Fort Max stroked his fingers up between his own threads, and it wasn’t Rodimus’ flirty colors that ran through his mind’s optics. He wished it was.

Fantasy. Harmless fantasy. Most of a memory, but whatever his body needed to get rid of the charge, right? 

His screw finally extended all the way, teased out as far as he could manage like this, and he let his head fall back. One hand worked the helix, petting between the threads and trying to force the turning. His interface systems whined, grinding angrily the longer he stalled this way, and Fort Max groaned. Of anyone, of any _place_ his charge could fixate on, why this? There were a thousand reasons why this was a bad idea, a million reasons his hate should eradicate lust, but still his body didn’t listen to reason. The quick, vivid mental images roused his systems no matter how he tried to purge them. His imagination clung to Rung’s assurance, and his body just didn’t care.

He lowered himself grudgingly, joints hissing. Down, subjugated by nothing, bending before no one but the shadows in the corners and his secret fantasy. Lower and lower until his chest pressed to the berth and his aft was the highest part of him. His knees spread 

_feet carelessly kicked apart before the nails were pounded through, and he’d only just managed not to scream_

until the blunt tip of his screw rested against the berth’s surface. That felt entirely too good. The slight burn in his hip cables from his knees being positioned this way felt even better. He grunted quietly as his screw gave a turn, and his hips swayed in a small circle that worked the tip against the berth. It wasn’t someone’s tap, but the small spot of contact had his optics flickering already. He hesitated, scrunching his face against the berth as shame fought a squirming battle in his gut with the blaze of building charge, then reluctantly extended his arms up underneath his shoulder treads. His hands slid up the berth, depriving him of their support completely. His wrists crossed

_one nail through them both, angled just enough that he had no leverage to pull it up no matter how hard he strained_

but kept restlessly moving. His systems heated rapidly, something about the debased position revving his engine even as his mind tried to block the hot rush of lust. His hips bucked slightly, working the tip of his screw in tiny, blissful circles on the berth, yet it wasn’t enough. Not _quite_. Something was missing, and he was ashamed that this couldn’t be enough. Why did his body need so much re-creation? Why, if Rung was right, couldn’t this stay a mental exercise? A harmless fantasy that could stay hidden in his head. He could stare into space and daydream while his fingers squeezed between his threads and his screw drilled into his tight fist over and over until the charge finally tripped. 

Why couldn’t that be it?! Over and done with -- but the charge wasn’t going anywhere. It was still building. It still had his hips flexing and a muted sound of shuddering lust trying to escape his throat. It just wasn’t bleeding off. It kept climbing higher without discharging, because it lacked something.

Blind with the heavy curl of pleasure snagging his hips in a twisting thrust against the berth, he reached over and fumbled on the berthside table. He found something suitable after knocking a couple things to the floor. It was a box for things. Polishing cloths, maybe. Who cared. 

He put it under his chin, propping his head up at an incredibly awkward, almost painful angle, and crossed his wrists far up on the berth again. Yes. Yes, this.

Fortress Maximus couldn’t muffle his moan, and his hips jerked. His screw’s turning picked up, drilling an indent into the berth surface. The blunt tip rubbed into it, lapping waves of indomitable, sick and filthy pleasure up the inside of his thighs in small surges of charge.

His glossa licked, and he chose to pretend there were missing denta. Just one. It’d…it’d gotten worse after the second one, and the sickness in his tanks swelled too far if he thought about that. So he kept his chin up on the box, his limbs down on the berth as if they were nailed there, and let himself sink into the memory. Later, he’d hate himself for how his screw spun to it like a fantasy. Later, not now.

_He wasn’t allowed to look away. The gag in his mouth kept him from shouting protests, and the nails kept him down. Nothing prevented him from shutting off his optics, but his mechs deserved this much from him. He couldn’t stop their suffering, but he could at least witness it._

_The Autobot on his knees before Overlord had suffered much already, and Fortess Maximus cringed inside when the Decepticon pushed the used guard away. “You know what I want, Fortress,” came that silken, liquid voice. It sounded almost kind. It’d sounded the exact same when Overlord had ordered the guard to open his mouth and suck him. It hadn’t even changed pitch when the poor mech refused, but the warlord’s lips had curled in a pleased smile. The smile had stayed while he picked up a pair of pliers and set about making the guard want to obey._

_The Autobot at Overlord’s feet now had no denta left, and wide strips of upper palate had been peeled out of his mouth before Overlord had pretended to notice the screamed pleas. They’d been shrieked for an hour before then._

_Fort Max steeled himself and snarled a refusal behind the gag._

_“Oh?” Again with the pleased smile. His refusal had been predicted. From the smile, probably anticipated._

Charge snaked up and down the rib crests as Fort Max’s screw turned. He ground the tip against the berth faster, the friction less important that what was happening in his head. His fingers opened and closed, helplessly wriggling even though there was nothing holding him down, and his optics dropped to a dim, unseeing light. His hips hitched up slightly, pushing and dropping in miniscule thrusts that were the best he could manage in this position.

He _could_ move, but he wouldn’t. The imagined restraints made the bottom drop out of his tanks and a fire lick at the root of his screw, tracing fingers of aching pleasure up it in a slowly twisting spiral. The box dug under Fortress Maximus’ chin, and the warden’s glossa worked inside his mouth, licking obsessively at his own denta. 

_”Then perhaps you’ll give me what else I want.” The pliers were picked up and examined, apparently uncaring of the dripping trail of vital fluids meandering down his wrist from them. The guard huddled on the ground mewled, completely terrorized by the sight, but Fort Max turned the gag against his missing denta and swallowed before jerking his head as much as he could in denial. “I’d say it’s a pity, but I enjoy this too much to regret your willfulness.” The smile stretched wide. “That’s not to say you won’t.”_

His hips squirmed, dropping and bucking until the first narrow thread caught on the berth cover, then rotating upward to scrub the sensitive upper half over it again. His optics blindly watched a fast-forwarded memory of the first guard put through Overlord’s terrible game. The mech had sobbed and begged as the massive pistol rested against the top of his head and Overlord shoved his screw back into the empty hole of the tortured Autobot’s mouth. Overload, it had been promised, would be met with a single shot.

No hope. No escape. Just using Fort Max’s mech for a sadistic frag to punish the warden for refusing. Afterward, the corpse had been kicked to the side, and Overlord had laughed at the warden’s helpless fury. Then came the pliers, and an extraction.

And repeat. 

_He couldn’t surrender. Aequitas was more important to the Autobots than any garrison, no matter that they were his._

_That didn’t mean he didn’t want to just give in as Overlord purred his honeyed lies to the disfigured guard. “Make him overload, and I will allow you to leave this room. Understood?” Oh, he’d be allowed to leave the room. In pieces. Fort Max had already seen that promise come true. “Good. Then get to work.”_

_Obedience won nothing from this Decepticon, not until he won everything, and only absolute conquest would be enough. Fortress Maximus could not allow that, no matter how high Overlord kept setting the price of defiance. He braced himself to pay that price yet again._

_A whimper of apology came from behind the nailed-down warden, and he yelled furiously behind the gag as the smaller Autobot scooted between his knees. A head nudged under him, the top of a helm wedged up against his belly, and then poor guard set about licking and sucking Fort Max’s screw out. It did not, shamefully enough, take too much effort. It spiraled out, and that’s when the real horror began for the warden._

Primus, he wished this wasn’t firing him up this much. His hips shuddered in tiny motions, more circling in place than making individual thrusts, and his screw turned and turned. The feel of a glossa stroking against his threads was a vivid memory. A vivid, gross memory of pushing against damaged stripes of raw wounds on one side while a frantic glossa worked on the other. He remembered the gaping, hollow place where denta should have been, how they _should_ have scraped into the roots between threads, and but they hadn’t. They’d been pulled out to the tune of screamed, pathetic pleas and had been scattered on the floor of the room that had never been silent. The contented rumble of Overlord’s engine echoed out of Fort Max’s memories, and the stuttered whine of distress from the guard who’d been trying so hard underneath him. 

It had all somehow made the soft, continuous motion of lips all the worse because it’d felt so fragging _good_. That skyrocketing pleasure hadn’t faded. The memory still had him gasping in lust more powerful than humiliation or hatred.

He was a monster. This wasn’t a harmless fantasy. This was bucking and quivering to a memory, and yet he couldn’t stop

_thrusting against the hot suck and building charge. Overlord couldn’t make his tap react no matter how he fingered the warden’s threads, but a screw’s reactions were far more involuntary. That’s what made this so very terrible. The drive to finish was physical pressure that had Fortress Maximus keening as his limbs twisted desperately against the nails. His neck ached, his wrists shrieked pain, and his hips were pumping into the guard’s frenzied mouth. His screw turned, trying to catch internal threads that weren’t there, and the lack drove the charge higher. It’d be a painful shock into the smaller Autobot’s jaw when he finally discharged; there were reasons that oral wasn’t very popular._

_But that wasn’t what had Fort Max bellowing protest into the gag. Overlord had put down the pliers in front of him -- a promise for later, for another denta -- and held up his pistol with a sinister grin._

_The Decepticon walked around behind the pinned warden and waited. They both knew for what._

_The hopeful, despairing guard kept sucking. The hips bucking into his face blocked his view of the pistol pointed at his spark._

Fortress Maximus’ hands flattened to the berth, fingers clawing. His back arched up as the overload snapped, at long last, over his systems.

When he could unlock his joints again, his optics had reset so he could see more than static. Trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure, he nudged the box under his chin aside, and then the warden hid his face between his arms. The fantasy had driven him to the peak, past the point of caring that it’d gone beyond imagining and down into wallowing in memory. He couldn’t even pretend it’d been a dream he’d climaxed to. 

Even so, it hadn’t been as good as the real thing. Not…not even close.

He tried not to think about it, but trying not to think about it made him think instead about next time. He burrowed his face into the berth, muffling a pained groan because he already knew, loathe himself though he did, that there’d be a next time.

Rung had been wrong. It hadn’t been harmless.


End file.
